An All Hallows Eve Tale
by scathach124
Summary: The Crawley sisters are modern-day witches living in London with very unconventional love lives. They always knew it was never going to be easy being in love with a werewolf, a ghost, and a vampire, but trouble is brewing for them all and it will test just how powerful they are together. A STEAMM paranormal AU.
1. Anything but Normal

_What's this? Another STEAMM fic from yours truly? And a modern AU Halloween fic too?_

 _First off, I must absolutely thank the ever wonderful Yankee Countess for giving me this idea (that got way out of control, but that's my fault). I was also inspired by my own picsets on Tumblr of the Crawley sisters as witches. This is a modern AU fic, where all the Crawley sisters are witches (like Hocus Pocus but without the eating children part) and all of their fellas are also supernatural creatures: Tom is a werewolf, Sir Anthony is a ghost, and Matthew is a vampire. I won't give away too much of the plot, but be warned that there will be some creepy and scary stuff (it's a Halloween story, of course)._

 _I hope to update at least once a week until Halloween, but I've had trouble keeping my own deadlines so we'll just see how things go. I'm planning this_ _to be only a couple chapters, but as you can see this chapter is *rather* long and it's only the prologue! We'll get into the real plot in the next chapter so stay tuned!_

 _Thank you so much to all my loyal readers, and thank you for your follows, favorites, reviews, and all that jazz. Let's keep the STEAMM ships sailing!_

* * *

 _ **An All Hallow's Eve Tale**_

Prologue: Anything But Normal

The Crawley sisters always knew that, being witches, their lives wouldn't be normal. No one who was born with magical blood in their veins had a normal life, and they knew it.

First was their uncommon upbringing. Their mother and grandmother, both witches as well, educated them in all manner of witchcraft, from spell-casting to potion making and even the centuries-old custom of flying (on broomsticks, of course). They had their familiars (all black cats according to tradition), their great black cauldrons, their yellowed spell books, and cupboards stocked with magical ingredients for potions. They spent their childhood practising simple spells, creating potions in the kitchen, and enchanting their toys to make them come alive. When they fought, which was a fairly common occurrence, they sometimes hexed each other which resulted in quite the berating from their mother.

And not to mention, they lived in the family's splendid ancestral home tucked away in the Yorkshire wilds. Their family was an old and noble one, and as such they were considered ladies, which meant that their grandmother attempted to make them proper noble witches. All three girls were expected to uphold the ancient traditions, including one day marrying warlocks like their father. But as all the girls were very different in their personalities, it would be erroneous to assume they'd all follow the same path.

Indeed, they all hoped to find love, but not necessarily with a noble warlock. They tended to be snobbish, always acting superior to witches even though their magical prowess was never as strong. And after a young Sybil enchanted a certain Larry Grey to walk around with a pig's snout and tail at a party, the likelihood of them being courted by a warlock was small, much to their grandmother's dismay. So when the sisters moved to London to develop their powers away from home, there was some small expectation that, if they were to find love there, they'd find it with a human.

The eldest, Mary, always assumed she'd follow tradition and marry a warlock, but several failed courtships had left her to believe that she wouldn't ever find love. She set her focus on her work instead, making herself in charge of her sisters (which didn't go over too well initially) and advancing her skills in enchantments. So when she met Matthew, unexpectedly formed a frienship with him, then fell madly in love with him, she was caught quite off guard. Typically a proud and cold woman, something about Matthew softened her and, for the first time in her life, she felt whole. To appease her family, Mary convinced Matthew to take her surname, which he was glad to do. And when Mary's true heritage was revealed to Matthew, he reacted with surprising calmness. Life felt perfect for Mary.

The middle daughter, Edith, saw herself as a bit of a disappointment. She had never been too good at witchcraft, unintentionally mixing up potion ingredients and miscasting spells. She thought that, once she was away from her family and on her own in London, she might improve – and to her surprise, she did. She found her purpose in writing her own spells, which worked better than the prewritten ones, and within a year she had a dozen new spellbooks written in her own hand. But her love life still proved to be disappointing … until she encountered Sir Anthony Strallan, an older but gentle and kind-hearted man who took to Edith almost instantly. A perfect life seemed within Edith's grasp.

The youngest of the Crawley sisters, Sybil never intended to marry a warlock, and she hoped very much that she could have a normal life with a human she truly loved. Living in London, she was given her chance to have the life she always wanted. She excelled at healing spells and potions and even considered volunteering as a nurse at the hospital, never mind the disapproval from her family at taking a 'human occupation.' But finding love was a difficult journey for her, as true love never seemed to come her way. Not, however, until Tom Branson entered her life in a peculiar way.

No, all three Crawley sisters had abnormal childhoods, and none would have normal lives for the rest of their days. But being talented and powerful witches, they could battle the unexpected with their magic and their own strength. And the trials their love would face would require both.

* * *

 _The Werewolf's Tale_

Since he was a boy, Tom had lived with his curse. No, more like … suffered from it.

He had been halfway through seven when it had happened, when the creature had found him. It had been late at night, and he was in the garden, in his pyjamas. His brother had buried one of his toys as revenge for a petty quarrel, and Tom was only now trying to find it, hoping that his parents wouldn't find him out of bed and digging around the garden. He was on his knees, sticking his hands into the dirt under the hedge, grumbling and cursing his older brother. He thought the only danger would be his parents seeing him outside and sending him back to bed. He wasn't afraid of the dark, despite being a little boy. Tom wasn't scared of much, save for scarecrows, but luckily there were none nearby.

But he only grew afraid when he heard the low growl through the bushes.

At first, Tom believed it was a lost dog, one that had broken free from its leash and gotten into the backyard. If that was the case, then Tom didn't worry, for the dog would probably run away again. All the dogs in the neighborhood were relatively friendly, or at least wouldn't attack people.

But the huge shadow that emerged from the bushes made him go cold. The animal looked like a normal wolf, covered in grey fur, but it seemed as large as a pony. It was far bigger and more wolf-like than any dog Tom had ever seen. Its paws were the size of saucers and tipped with long, sharp claws. It growled, showing a small portion of its razor sharp teeth, a fang glinting from the moon's light. It had to be a wolf, though Tom knew there were no longer native to Ireland. Had it escaped from a zoo? It couldn't be a real wolf, he thought, it was too big!

The wolf's golden eyes watched the boy for a moment, and as it stared at him, Tom felt himself go frozen with fear. Something in the way the wolf stared at him made Tom think that it very much intended to eat him. He wondered if he could scare it off, holler for his parents, try and run for the house. But the wolf crept out of the bushes, revealing itself fully, and it stood just a few feet away from Tom. Tom could not make himself move, could not even utter a scream. The wolf continued to watch him, golden eyes narrowing and anther low growl emitting from its throat.

Then it leapt on him, teeth bared.

Tom screamed louder than he ever had in his life. He truly believed he was about to die.

But from the house he heard his father shout and fire his shotgun at the monster. It scampered away with a pained whimper, leaping over the fence and disappearing into the darkess.

Tom was still lying in the grass, sobbing and clutching his shoulder. He was covered in his own blood and the creature's. His father rushed to him, taking his son in his arms. "Tom? Are you hurt? Let me see …"

He gently removed Tom's hand from his shoulder, and he could not help but gasp upon seeing the size of the bite mark. It was horribly bloody, and the wolf's saliva was spilling out from the edges of the gash. Tom's father wondered for a moment if Tom would lose his arm, but quickly came back to his senses and picked him up from the ground.

Poor Tom could not calm down until he was sedated at the hospital. The doctors could not say what exactly had sunk its teeth into Tom, other than obviously a very large dog. He wasn't at risk for rabies or an infection, and as far as they could tell no lasting damage had been done. They commented that he was lucky his whole arm had not been torn off.

Years later, Tom would reflect that lucky was not the word to describe his condition.

The doctors could not be more wrong about not having an infection. Tom _had_ been infected with something, but it was something that every medical practioner would laugh at. Things like werewolves and curses simply didn't exist … but they simply did not know they existed. And Tom was soon to be living proof of that.

The next month, he transformed for the first time while at the dinner table. Everyone else was silent as Mrs Branson led the mealtime prayer, except for Tom who let out a moan.

"Hush, Tom," Mr Branson chided.

Tom shook his head, wincing at a pain in his chest. "I don't feel so well."

"Would you like to go upstairs and lie down?" his mother kindly suggested.

Tom was in the process of nodding, but suddenly he groaned again, opening his mouth wide. To the horror of everyone sitting around him, fangs had grown from his four canines, and when he forced his eyes open his irises had turned bright gold. Then his nails grew sharp and long, and all over his body grey fur began to sprout. He stood and gripped the edge of the table, his newly grown claws scratching the wood, before he collapsed to the floor. His clothes torn as his body grew, his back arching and his face elongating until he had fully transformed – into a wolf.

Being only a young boy, he was only a small werewolf, but his aggression was still monstrous. Behind his golden eyes he seemed delirious and confused, but more troubling was the fact that he acted feral and animalistic. He destroyed almost every piece of furniture in the house and nearly scratched his mother before they were able to shut him up in his room. They heard him clawing the walls and howling, pacing the floor, and he only grew silent as dawn approached.

When they were brave enough to open the bedroom door, they found him curled up on the floor, sobbing. "What did I do?" he cried. "What happened to me?"

With difficulty they explained what had happened to him. How he had transformed into a wolf, destroyed everything in the house, and nearly hurt his mother. Terrified of himself, Tom refused to leave his house for a long time, not even to go to school, and for a while they let him have his solitude. They wondered what to do and how to manage this; they knew what their boy was now, and they knew it would happen again.

But his father then decided that his son must try to have as normal a life as possible. Tom returned to school, although he was still afraid he'd transform and hurt one of his friends. At school it was easy to forget his affliction. At home, though, he could never forget it. Things felt different, even though they hardly spoke of his curse. For a long time his siblings could hardly stand to be in the same room as him, and Tom knew it would take a while for them to trust him again. Normal was easy to pretend, but his curse was never far from his mind.

Every month at the full moon he would transform, and every time he would hardly remember the chaos he caused. His parents, fearing he would harm the family, decided that before he transformed he'd be locked up in the stone garden shed to wait out the night. It was a harsh decision, but no one saw any other way. Tom understood; he didn't want to hurt his family either. He didn't like the thought of being locked in the cold, windowless shed all night, but he knew he risked hurting his family if he didn't.

"It's for the safety of your siblings," his father reminded him as he locked the door the first time.

Once the door was closed, Tom was in complete darkness. The shed door held fast when he transformed, snarling and spitting, and the structure withstood his clawing at the walls. He finally exhausted himself from his exertions, pacing the floor before finally settling down. When he came to at sunrise he found his clothes in tatters, scrapes and cuts everywhere on his body, and his stomach growling like mad.

Each full moon he'd spend the night in the cold stone shed, locked in with no way out. He'd rake his claws up and down the stone walls and snap his jaws at the door, and if a mouse or bird crept in through the roof, he'd rip it to shreds in an instant. He once tried to dig through the ground, but his father hammered in a wooden floor and cut off his only escape route. No matter what, Tom could not be let out until the morning.

As Tom grew older, his wolf form grew too, and the garden shed had to be expanded over the years to accommodate him. Eventually he grew to the same size as the creature who had attacked him, and his teeth and claws were sharp enough to tear a man's arm off. The older he got, the more dangerous he became; if he encountered a human during the full moon, he could very well kill them, no matter who they were. He'd never recognize his family as a wolf.

Even in his human form he could feel his curse in other ways: the way he ate meat with a ravenous appetite, the way he seemed to growl when he was angry, how he'd grow more agitated as the full moon approached. There were even times when he thought he might transform even though it wasn't time yet. And still he tried to live like a normal person. He went to school, he hung out with friends, he got a job working in a garage. His family would rarely mention his curse, even privately or with other family members. Even his cousins did not know of his curse. Sometimes it seemed that the curse did not exist, or it existed only in Tom's mind. As long as he remembered to go into the shed at the full moon, he would not hurt anyone and everyone would be safe.

But whatever security he felt at his parents' home vanished early one morning.

As always at every full moon, he locked inside the garden shed for the night, and as morning approached he began to calm down from his bestial wrath. It was still dark, the moon was still faintly shining, but within the hour Tom would transform back into a human. He was lying on his side, panting, exhausted from the long night of trying to escape his confinement.

But his ears perked up when he heard the lock on the door being handled.

If he turned back then, he would have remembered that his cousin Damien had borrowed a set of shovels from the Bransons for his own garden; it was he who outside the garden shed, shovels in hand, fiddling with the lock on the door. He was there early before he had to go to work. He would not get in without the key, which was on the kitchen counter inside the house. Under normal circumstances Damien would fiddle with the lock for a few minutes, give up and set the shovels on the door outside, then leave the Bransons' garden.

But the scent of a human so close to him sent Tom into a frenzy.

He howled, then rammed his head into the shed door; although reinforced, it trembled on its hinges. Damien heard the howl come from inside the shed and quickly backed away, fearing that a wild dog had been locked in. He had no idea of Tom's true nature, no idea of the precautions his family took to keep Tom away.

"Something in there?" he senselessly called out.

With all of his might, Tom rammed the door again, and it tore away from the shed. Damien was barely able to scramble away from the falling door in time, but he wasn't able to run from the giant wolf that leapt on top of him, snarling and snapping its jaws. Damien screamed and tried to wrestle away from the wolf, but it was too large and too strong to get away from, especially with its heavy paws pinning his chest to the ground. Tom's mind could not register that he was attacking his own cousin, and he kept clawing and snapping at Damien. All Damien could do was hold the creature away from his face, but his strength was quickly diminishing …

The blast from his father's shotgun caused Tom to bolt, leaping over the garden fence and down the street. Damien lay panting on the grass, his chest bloodied and his arms broken from the weight of Tom's paws. He was shaking violently from the shock of being attacked. Mr Branson rushed to him, checking all over for signs of a bite mark. He let out a sigh when he found no such wound. But Damien was still terribly maimed, and he needed an ambulance immediately. Several large blood stains were spreading across his shirt and trousers, and there was a deep cut on his forehead that was gushing blood.

"It was a wolf … a massive wolf!" Damien cried, his hands trying to cover his deeper gashes.

"I know. I know what it was," Mr Branson said.

Damien whimpered as Mr Branson tried to make him stand. "It was … locked … in your shed! I only wanted to return the shovels."

Mr Branson shook his head. "I should have warned you."

The sun rose shortly afterwards, and Tom returned to his normal state. He realized, from the rising sun shining in his eyes, that he was no longer in the garden shed. He had never before gotten free, and now he was scared something would happen. After looking around he found he was in the park near his house, and stark naked to top it off. Usually when he awoke there was a blanket waiting for him, but of course that was in the garden shed and he wasn't there anymore.

Still, his panic replaced any embarrassment he had running down the street back to his own home (thank goodness it was still early enough). His mother was waiting for him, and she had been crying. Once she fetched him some clothes, she sat him down at the kitchen table and explained.

"Damien came early to return the shovels he'd borrowed a couple days ago. We should have warned him not to come until after sunrise … you broke the shed door down and …" She inhaled deeply. "He's alive, but you injured him, badly. Your father's with him at the hospital."

Tom's throat felt dry as he asked, "Did I … bite him?"

His mother shook her head. "Your father doesn't think so."

The news that there would not be another werewolf in the family was a relief, but only a small one. Tom couldn't believe what he had done, what he couldn't even remember doing: he had nearly killed his own cousin, one of his best friends! How could he live with himself if he _did_ kill Damien?

"I have to leave," he decided.

Mrs Branson took his hand in hers. "You know you can't, Tom. Where would you go? What if you hurt someone else?"

Tom didn't know where he would go if he left. He wanted to go someplace where he would not risk hurting anyone. He didn't want to stay cooped up in his parents' home, living out each full moon in the garden shed, his family just a short distance away from being bitten or killed. But he also wanted to know more about his curse, how many out there were like him. What if there was a way to return to normal? To be fully human again, to not have to worry about accidentally maiming or killing someone. If there was a chance at that, he'd jump at it without a second thought.

That night, he packed his belongings into a single duffel bag and stuffed the cash he had saved in his backpack. He got on a bus to Dublin, then bought a ticket to Liverpool. He didn't know why he thought England would be safer than Ireland, but some small hunch was drawing him there. Like there was an answer to his problems just waiting to be discovered.

He made it to a town on the outskirts of London the night before the full moon, finding an abandoned house he could stay in and wait out his transformation. He felt it happen quicker than usual, as he was standing in the yard directly under the full moon, feeling its silver glow give him strength as he changed into his bestial form. No longer confined to a tiny garden shed, he howled directly at the moon, basking in the freedom he now had. But his carnivorous appetite led him out in search of something to eat. The chains that Tom had wrapped around his ankles did not hold.

He ransacked two butcher's shops, devouring everything in the storeroom and all the carcasses waiting to be cut up. He'd never had food while locked in the garden shed, and now he ate like he had been starved for years. But his appetite was not quite satiated; meat was good, but living things … oh, _that_ made his stomach growl and his mouth drool. Anything that was breathing, be it livestock or human, sent him into a crazed run out of the ruined shop. He bounded down the street, stopping only to sniff the air, finding a trail of prey …

And there was a delicious, sweet scent in the air, in a nearby field. Was it cattle? Sheep? A lost human?

Tom lost no time in following the scent, leaping over fences and cars and anything else in his way. He prowled through the tall grass in the field, nose to the ground, the scent getting stronger every second. He let out a growl as he detected movement through the grass – a human, he knew. It had to be a human.

But he got a whiff of something peculiar, and wondered if it really was a human.

Except he wasn't about to let a little thing like an odd odour get in the way of a meal. Slowly, to avoid scaring it off, he crept towards his prey, crouching so low that his grey fur could not be spotted over the edge of the tall grass. Closer and closer, he inched forward, until he was near enough to pounce—

A bright yellow light blinded him, and he collapsed. That was his first encounter with Sybil Crawley, the healing witch.

Cautiously Sybil approached him, the yellow mist of her stunning spell fading from her hands. She dropped the basket of herbs she had been collecting and knelt by the werewolf's head. It was quite unconscious, and likely would not wake until the morning. Evidently he had been feasting already tonight, the remnants of butcherd animals still coating his maw. It was the first time she had encountered a werewolf, but she was not afraid. When he turned back at sunrise he'd likely be frightened, unsure of where he was or what he had done.

She decided then and there that she'd wait for sunrise, and she did. She waited through the night, finished collecting her herbs that she was to restock the cupboards with. The sun rose and the werewolf shifted back to a human, shivering and naked. Sybil blushed and covered him with her overcoat.

"What's your name?" she asked the young man.

"Tom Branson," was the answer.

* * *

 _The Ghost's Tale_

 _One year ago_

The train accident left thirteen people dead and over fifty with serious injuries. The brakes on a train approaching King's Cross had failed, and crashed into another leaving the station. Among those deceased was Sir Anthony Strallan, on his way back to Yorkshire after a holiday in London with his sweetheart Edith.

He thought dying would be painful, or at least a bit uncomfortable. But at least to him, it wasn't painful at all. First there was the sudden rush of the speeding trains colliding, then abosolute darkness, and then the curious sensation of rising up, like floating through water. It didn't last very long, hardly thirty seconds. When his vision returned and the world came into focus again, he found he was not very far from where he last remembered being. Except that the train carriage he had been in was now destroyed.

Sir Anthony didn't expect the afterlife to look like a destroyed train carriage in the middle of King's Cross. He looked around, and gasped at seeing mangled and bloody bodies everywhere, many with books or newspapers still in hand. Fearfully, he looked next to the cracked window and saw his own body, crushed under the seat. A large splatter of blood was visible underneath his head.

If he were still alive, he would have had a heart attack. He reached up and felt his own … no, he didn't feel his own head. He didn't feel anything at all. He waved his hand right through his head. Looking at his own hands, he realized he could see right through them!

Good God, he though. He was fully transparent. Did this mean he was … ?

He heard sirens and emergency workers running towards the crash site. He didn't want to be seen like this, if there was a chance that they could see him, standing next to his own dead body. Rushing down the aisle, he then realized that he was passing through the solid floor. He felt like he was running on solid ground, but there was no denying that the laws of physics no longer applied to him and that he could pass right through walls! The truth was coming to him too quickly.

He passed right through seats and doors like they were imaginary. In the next car, the dining car, there was a mirror above the bar, and he took a quick glance at himself. He was still wearing his clothes (a nice business suit, thank goodness) and his hair was well combed. He looked unhurt at all. He was just as he was the moment before the other train collided with his.

Well, at least he wouldn't have to float around for eternity with a nasty head wound. That was something for Sir Anthony to take comfort in, at least. And at least he was not bound to the place he had died, as was common in the stories. If he had to spend the afterlife stuck in the remnants of a train carriage, he might descend into complete madness.

But all of the pieces were falling into place as he came to realize what he was. His body passed through walls and doors, and he could not feel anything anymore; it was like he was made of air. He had felt himself die, had even seen his own corpse! The answer was clear and obvious to him: he was a ghost, a spirit, an apparition, whatever one wished to called it. And that thought would have made him pass out too, had he still been alive.

"This can't be happening!" Anthony exclaimed. He knew ghosts existed – Edith had told him that, in the same conversation that she had told him she was a witch – but never would he have imagined that _he_ would become one. Weren't ghosts supposed to be vengeful, angry spirits that roamed haunted houses and scared their unfaithful spouses? Sir Anthony wasn't vengeful or angry about anything, except for the existence of Tories, and he certainly wasn't going to go haunt any politicians. What was he going to do now that he was dead, technically a ghost?

He knew the first thing he had to do, and he made his way out of King's Cross and back into the bustle of London. There was panic all around him from the train crash: dozens of police cars and ambulances, shepherding people away and rushing gurneys to the crash site. No one noticed Sir Anthony at all, and he simply wafted through the crowd, invisible and undetectable. He saw how a few people shuddered after he passed through them, like a chill had overtaken them, but besides that none of them would think that a ghost had just went right through them. It was a chilly enough morning.

Making his way back to Edith's flat, Anthony wondered if she would be able to explain why this had happened to him. Of course he was glad not to be completely gone – he might be dead, but if this was the way he could talk to her then he felt lucky for it. But would she know why he had become a ghost instead of simply passing on? She was a clever witch, but could she give answers to him on this matter? Was it even known to the magical world why someone could become a ghost?

All things considered, Anthony thought, he was taking this rather calmly.

Because she was a witch and thus part of the supernatural world, Edith was able to see Anthony as he now was, unlike regular humans who could not. It gave her quite a scare, hearing his voice all of a sudden and then seeing him standing in her flat. She knew immediately that something was amiss, and her fear was confirmed when Anthony floated through the furniture in the front room to her, as transparent as a sheer curtain.

"Anthony – what happened?" She peered at him, and then gasped. "No … you can't be!"

"Edith, my sweet one, I'm so sorry," he whispered, hanging back. "I believe I'm quite dead."

Swallowing hard, Edith nodded. This was hard for her to register. "Yes, I think so too," she whispered. "How … how did this happen?" She gestured to his ghostly form.

"I was on the train back to Yorkshire, and another train crashed into the carriage," Anthony explained. "I saw … my body on the train, and I could go through the walls of the wreckage … and I can't feel anything! It's like I'm made of air."

Slowly, Edith reached out to brush Anthony's arm; her hand went through his, touching nothing. All she felt was a cold that prickled her skin. She tried again, but felt nothing more.

"Oh no," she whimpered. Every instinct was telling her to embrace Anthony, let him wrap his arms around her, but she knew she would not feel him. He'd simply go right through her.

"Edith," Anthony began, "why am I like this? Why have I come back as a ghost?"

Edith shook her head. "I can't say why exactly. I don't know that much about ghosts."

All she wanted to do know was retreat to her bedroom and cry: cry because her beloved Anthony was dead, cry because she wasn't able to feel his gentle, tender touch anymore. But she was a practical witch, and Anthony needed her help to understand his new 'condition.' She'd need to find some books specifically about spectres (she knew there were some volumes in the library at Downton Abbey). She had research to do, and right now that was all she could do to help Anthony.

And at least she had not lost him entirely.

She asked Mama to send her whatever books they had on ghosts, and she struggled to explain why the sudden interest in the spirit world. Her family sent their condolences, although they seemed half-arsed (technically, Anthony had not completely passed on). A few old tomes arrived shortly afterwards, and Edith spend all night reading and taking notes on them. They described the first sightings of ghosts in ancient cultures, the nature of different types of ghosts (some were peaceful, others were violent), and different methods of contacting them. The only definite answer Edith could come up with for their dilemma was that something was keeping Anthony from moving on from the mortal world. Often the reason was that the spirit was seeking revenge or had unfinished business, but occassionally a person lingered on because they wished to watch over their loved ones.

That was the explanation that made most sense; Anthony hated the idea that he would leave Edith behind if he died, and now that he was dead, all he wanted was to continue to watch over her. He did not stay in the mortal world for reasons of anger or retribution – it was love that kept him from leaving entirely.

So this was to be Anthony's life now – or his afterlife, to be precise – floating around as a spectre, in the world but not truly a part of it. Never again to be able to hold the hand of his beloved Edith. Never again to kiss her lips or hold her in his arms. So many times he instinctively tried to reach out to her, to touch her shoulder or her arm, and his hand would simply wave through her. That first time, when her hand had passed through his, Anthony felt his heart break. This was a cruel price to pay for wanting to be with Edith while she was still alive.

Yet he took some comfort in the fact that he could still speak to Edith and that she could see him. He'd watch her work at her spells, concoct her potions, and he'd reassure her when she was met with failure. He could still accompany her on walks to the market and to the park (though they had to be careful not to talk too much to each other or it would cause Edith to look mad, talking to something no one else could see). But he could not eat nor drink, and if he slept he would disappear. Whenever that happened, Edith had to use a ouija board to bring him back. Luckily the books had informed her of that, or else she would have thought that he was truly gone.

They had faced many ordeals in their relationship; first Anthony's reluctance due to their age difference, then the disapproval of Edith's family, then managing their life between Anthony's Yorkshire home and Edith's London flat. Yet this was the greatest trial they had ever dealt with, and there was no telling what was to come.

* * *

 _The Vampire's Tale_

 _Three months ago_

Where _was_ her fiancé, Mary wondered for the fifth time.

It was their own engagement party, and he was nowhere to be seen! Well, he was actually _at_ the party, he hadn't stood her up or anything, but rather he had just suddenly disappeared. He'd gone to fetch Mary another glass of Pinot Noir, but that had been over twenty minutes ago. It couldn't possibly take _that_ long to get a girl a drink, especially at a place like this.

They were at the Corinthia, a terrifically fancy hotel, with glasses of sparkling champagne and hors d'oeuvres being passed around by the handsome wait staff. Many of Mary and Matthew's friends and family members were there, including Mary's parents who had finally come around to the idea of her marrying a non-warlock. It had been a nice evening, with Mary and Matthew of course being the center of attention. The only initial tension was between the two families, who were of two completely different lifestyles (the sole person on Matthew's side who knew about witches and warlocks was his mother). All of Mary's family had to be mindful that there were humans about, and unintentionally revealing their existence to such a large group of humans would carry a severe penalty. But Mary didn't fret too much about the whole affair (even when her grandmother and Matthew's mother started arguing right in front of them), at least until Matthew disappeared.

Now thirty minutes had gone by, and she hadn't even caught a glimpse of him. And in the meantime, she was stuck chatting with a gaggle of witches and warlocks her family knew, but she could hardly care any less about their nattering about wedding preparations and oh no, what if their baby didn't inherit magical powers? She really could use another glass of wine about now.

She asked her sisters if they might have seen Matthew, but neither had in the past half-hour. "Perhaps he's in the restroom," Sybil suggested.

Mary arched her brow. "For thirty minutes?"

"Well, the caviar tastes a bit off," Edith said, only partially serious. "Maybe it disagreed with him."

"I don't think Matthew's eaten anything," Mary said. They hadn't even sat down to the dinner yet. But the time to sit down was rapidly approaching, and she knew Matthew couldn't be absent for that.

"Maybe he went out to get some air," Sybil said. It was a reasonable theory since the banquet hall was crowded and rather stuffy, but Matthew would have informed Mary if he was stepping out for a bit.

"You shouldn't worry too much, Mary," Edith said, trying to sound like that was a logical proposition. "I'm sure he's around here somewhere and you're simply missing him."

"But I _am_ worried, it's not like him to just suddenly disappear," Mary moaned. "He couldn't have simply vanished into thin air!"

"Mary, just stay calm," Sybil told her. "I'll go ask the bartender if Matthew was there recently, and Edith, you can ask around and check if anyone's seen him. We'll handle this, I promise. You go and keep Granny from hexing Isobel."

Although grateful that her sisters were willing to help her, Mary sighed reluctantly. She knew she wouldn't be able to relax, let alone keep Granny from turning Isobel into a toad. "Fine. Tell me at once if you hear anything."

Still afraid that something bad had happened to Matthew, Mary returned to the throng of guests. A few inquired as to where Matthew was, and she had to make half-hearted excuses of "Oh, he's simply getting me a drink," or "He's just stepped outside for some air." She hoped her parent's wouldn't notice how desperate she really was and create a scene.

Ten minutes later, Sybil found her again and took her to a (relatively) quiet corner of the banquet hall. She didn't look like she had good news to share, and Mary felt her stomach twist into a knot.

"Matthew _did_ go to the bartender to get your wine, and some other man was talking to him," Sybil explained. "The bartender couldn't say who it was. But they both went off somewhere, out of the banquet hall."

Mary frowned. "You mean Matthew followed some guy out?"

"That's what the bartender said. Matthew just went out with him."

This was getting more peculiar by the minute. "Maybe they're still in the hotel," Mary thought aloud.

"Should we organize a search party?" Sybil asked.

"No, I don't want a commotion over this. Not until I know for certain if Matthew's in danger."

"You think Matthew's in danger? From what?"

Mary couldn't say, for it was only a hunch, but if Matthew was missing and he was hurt she knew she had to act quickly. "I don't know if he is, but I need to find him _now_. Can you go make sure no one's in the ladies' room?"

Sybil nodded, know what Mary had in mind. "Alright."

While Sybil went off to the women's restroom, Mary snatched an empty silver tray and a bottle of white wine. She dashed off to the restroom, hoping no one was seeing her holding a full wine bottle. Sybil was outside the restroom door. "You're clear."

"Thanks. Keep everyone out until I'm done." She need privacy for what she was about to do. She didn't need anyone else coming in, especially a human who would think she was doing something completely mental. Sybil immediately conjured up a pen and paper and wrote 'Out of Order' on the paper before sticking it to the door.

Inside the ladies' room, Mary placed the silver tray on the floor and poured the white wine into it, taking care not to spill any on the floor. Typically for this spell she would have used plain water, but any clear liquid would do in a pinch. She took a swig from the bottle to steel herself before bending down close to the tray, her reflection looking back at her. If Matthew was nearby, this spell would show Mary where he was.

She muttered a quiet incantation, and at the end she commanded, "Show me where Matthew is."

The wine rippled and bubbled, her reflection gradually faded away. Soon an image began to form, that of a small dark storeroom and an unmoving person lying on the floor. Her stomach lurched.

Mary gasped as the reflection focused on Matthew's face. As leaned in closer she could smell, very faintly, a bloody stench.

"No! Oh God no!"

Sybil pushed open the door, hearing her sister's shout. "What's happened?"

Mary stood up quickly, spilling the tray of wine. The stench of blood she had smelled through the mirror had sent her heart racing. "He's in a room – a storeroom somewhere – and he's hurt. I smelled blood through the reflection. We have to find him!"

She dashed out of the restroom, Sybil following close behind. As she ran down the corridor, Mary kept her eyes open for any doors to a small closet or storeroom. There were conference rooms, office areas, staff break rooms …

 _Where is he? What's happened to him?_ her mind screamed.

"Mary, I'm going to get Mama and Papa, you find where he is," Sybil called after her, but Mary didn't respond. All she cared about was getting to Matthew before it was too late. The reflection had not shown her where he had been hurt or how badly, but all she knew was that he needed help. She'd kill whoever put him in that little room and hurt him!

Down the empty corridor she ran until she came close to the end, where the gold plaque on the last door read 'Storeroom – staff only.' She caught scent of something around the door … a faint aura of blood again! He was in there, her gut told her. He was in there, bleeding so much she could smell it.

She tried the door handle, but no matter how much she jostled it it would not budge. In her panic-stricken state she tried to remember a simple unlocking spell, and after a few attempts the lock clicked open.

Matthew was lying just as he had been shown in the mirror's reflectiong, but now Mary could see that his shirt and jacket were drenched with blood. She rushed into the dark storeroom and knelt down beside him, cradling his head in her lap.

"Matthew! Matthew, can you hear me? Wake up! Please wake up!"

Despite Mary calling out to him, Matthew remained unconscious. His pulse was so weak she could not feel it, and he didn't appear to be breathing at all.

"Don't you dare be dead Matthew, not now!" Mary cried. She started frantically searching for the wound on his body, pulling off his blood-soaked jacket pulling back his shirt collar—

There, on his neck, were two distinctive puncture marks.

"Oh God … no, please no," Mary sobbed, recognizing what those puncture wounds meant. There was no mistaking what had made those holes.

But worse was the thin rivulet of blood streaming from the corner of his mouth down to his chin. His lips were stained red with dried blood.

This couldn't be real, Mary thought, this couldn't be happening! Not her dear Matthew …

Hands shaking with utter trepidation, Mary gently drew Matthew's lips away from his gums. Both of his canine teeth had lengthened and sharpened, becoming deadly fangs.

Mary couldn't stop her tears from falling. "No … please no!" She shook from grief and rage, rage from knowing that someone had deliberately done this to her darling Matthew.

She heard footsteps hurrying towards the storeroom, and in the doorway stood Sybil, their parents, and Isobel. Isobel rushed into the storeroom and knelt beside Matthew, hysterically pleading for him to wake up. .

Sybil knelt beside Mary, inspecting Matthew's bloodied body with a nurse's touch. She felt the puncture wounds on his throat and looked up fearfully. Gravely, Mary showed everyone Matthew's newly formed fangs, and Isobel gasped.

"Oh my goodness … he's not a – is he?"

Mary nodded, wiping away her falling tears. Matthew's blood was smeared across her face. "He's been turned. He was taken here and attacked … by a vampire. And now he's one too!"

Everyone was silent as Mary descended into sobs again.

Sybil and Edith helped get Matthew outside and into the car as Mama and Papa informed the guests that Matthew had been injured and was being taken to the hospital. The girls brought him to their home instead, knowing that taking him to a hospital would be an unavoidable disaster. Mary and Isobel remained by Matthew's side throughout the night, but he did not wake up or even move at all. Even with the blood cleaned off of him he still looked fully dead, and Mary could hardly bear to look at him slowly grow paler. Eventually Sybil made her go to bed to rest for a few hours, and reluctantly Mary obeyed, though it wasn't a restful sleep.

Isobel remained at the flat even as morning came and went, she and Sybil keeping watch over Matthew while Edith found whatever volumes they had on vampirism and gave them to Mary. It made her feel ill reading them, knowing that Matthew had unwittingly become one. She read from the books that a newly-turned vampire took some time to revive after they were turned, and thus she should not have been too concerned that Matthew stayed unconscious for all of the next day. But of course she was still uneasy – her fiancé was now an undead vampire, and she had no idea how he'd react to that. How would their lives go on now? Would he even still want to marry him? It wouldn't be out of character for him to leave her if he saw himself as a monster.

He had been turned against his will, by someone who came into the engagement party. He had been taken into that dark storeroom and bitten, and forced to drink the blood of the other vampire before being locked inside. The bite alone was not enough to turn him, and so it could not have been an accident; Matthew had been deliberately made into a vampire. But who could it have been? She knew everyone who had been invited to the engagement party, and none of them were vampires.

Mary could only hope that Matthew would remember who had turned him.

She returned to the bedroom where Matthew was lying, while Isobel got some rest in the parlour. As the sun set and the sky began to darken, Matthew stirred and moaned, blinking awake. Mary was right there, and she held his hand as he fully came to. His eyes were paler than before, another sign of his curse.

"It's alright darling, I'm here," she said softly.

"I feel so cold," he murmured. "And so … thirsty."

She knew what he was thirsty for, and the thought sent a chill down her spine. Sybil had gone to the hospital earlier and snuck out with a box of donated blood, and very soon Matthew would have to consume some. He wouldn't stay sane for long without it.

"I know," she told him. "I'll get you something to … drink soon."

Matthew looked up at her, blinking wearily. "What time is it?"

"Just after ten at night. You've been asleep for more than a day."

"Why? What happened to me?"

There was no point in stalling or in keeping the truth from him; he'd find out for himself soon enough. He was sure to get a nasty shock either way. "Matthew, do you remember what happened last night? At the party?" Mary asked.

"Only a little," he replied. "I remember you looking gorgeous."

At a less serious time, Mary would have given him a scathing glare for his cheek. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"I … I was going to the bar to get you your drink … and there was someone … I can't remember who."

"Did you recognize them? Was it a man or a woman?" Mary asked.

Matthew shook his head. "It's all a blur. It's like trying to remember a dream."

He frowned and tried to sit up. "Did you put something in my mouth? There's something sharp in—"

He stopped suddenly, and raised his hand to his mouth. His eyes widened as he felt his newly grown fangs, two of them, as sharp as needles. "What is this? Mary, what's going on with me?" he asked, quite panicked now. "Why are my teeth so sharp?"

Mary's throat felt hoarse as she struggled to explain. "You were taken by somebody into a storeroom away from the party, and they … they attacked you."

"Attacked me?"

Mary leaned forward and gingerly touched the bite marks on Matthew's throat, which had begun to heal but were still raw. Matthew winced as she touched them, and he timidly touched them as well. As his fingers ran around the holes, his eyes widened. "I was bitten by something?"

Nodding, Mary said, "It was a vampire. You were bitten by a vampire, and they turned you."

It took a moment for Matthew to register what Mary had just told him, and when it finally did he sat up fully. "A vampire bit me?" he asked incredulously.

"It didn't just bite you," Mary said, voice trembling. "It fed you some of its blood. And it turned you into one too."

Matthew stared at Mary with wide, frightened eyes. "Are you saying that … that I'm a vampire now?"

Mary felt tears forming in her eyes again. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

"You're saying that … I'm dead? Or undead, whatever it is?"

Mary nodded again. "See for yourself."

Matthew touched the uninjured side of his throat, but he could no longer feel a pulse where it was supposed to be. He then realized he wasn't breathing at all either. "This isn't real," he muttered to himself. "This can't be real."

"It is, I'm afraid," Mary reminded him.

Matthew fell back onto his pillow, fingers still searching for a pulse. When he realized he wasn't going to find one, he let his hand drift towards Mary's; she gripped it tightly.

"Matthew, I know this is a lot to take to take in now," she said. "I could leave you alone now—"

"No," Matthew broke in quickly. "Please don't leave me. Not yet."

Mary stayed in her chair, holding his hand. Matthew was silent, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for a different explanation. He was a vampire, an undead creature of the night, turned at his own engagement party. It all seemed so asbsurd, so beyond belief that he wondered if this was just a strange dream.

"Who would do this to me?" he murmured. "It couldn't have been an accident."

"I don't know. I don't personally know any other vampires," Mary said. "I only wish you remembered who it was."

Matthew let out a sigh. "I wish I did too, but it's all a blur. Like trying to remember a dream, and the harder I try to remember, the blurrier it all gets."

Suddenly, he frowned. "What … what is that smell? It's … it's making me thirsty."

 _Oh no_ , Mary thought. His mother was still in the flat, and his mother was a human. Matthew might be calm now, but there was no telling how he'd react when the human scent awoke his more monstrous side.

"Just stay here a moment," Mary ordered him as she dashed out the door. Isobel was still sleeping on the couch in the living room, but Mary quickly shook her awake.

"Isobel, you need to leave now," she said. "Matthew's woken up."

Isobel practically jolted awake. "He is? Is he alright now?"

"He is, and you need to leave right now."

"Well, shouldn't I go and see—"

"You can't," Mary said sternly. "You're a human, and Matthew's a vampire, and I think you know what that means."

Isobel froze. "Goodness. He's already … hungry?"

Mary nodded. "I'm not sure how he's going to react, but you'll be safe if you leave now."

Isobel immediately gathered up her coat and purse. "I will, of course. But will _you_ be alright?"

"I'm a witch, I know how to handle him if I need to. And once I know that Matthew will be calm around you, you can see him again," Mary assured her.

Isobel nodded, relucantly hurrying out the front door. Mary knew it had to be hard for her, her son turned into a bloodthirsty creature, and she couldn't even see him now that he was awake.

She turned around and saw Matthew standing by the living room doorway. "You sent Mother away," he said softly.

"I had to. You were just turned and I couldn't risk you hurting her."

"I know." Matthew was breathing slowly, trying to calm himself. "I could smell her. Her blood … I could smell her blood."

Mary knew he needed to feed, and his appetite was sure to be ravenous. "Come into the kitchen."

She and Matthew went into the kitchen, where Sybil was busy concocting a batch of potions. When she saw Mary and Matthew come into the kitchen, she ran right up to Matthew and hugged him tightly. "Matthew! Thank goodness you're alright."

"Not completely, as I'm sure you know," Matthew said glumly.

Sybil couldn't say she was surprised at Matthew's gloomy outlook on things. "Well, I just mean that, you're not totally dead," she added quickly. "It's like with Sir Anthony. He's still with us, even though he's technically dead."

"But he's not a vampire," Matthew retorted. "He doesn't have to—" He stopped himself suddenly, realizing what the thirst he was feeling meant. "Oh no … no, I can't!"

"You'll have to, I'm afraid," Mary said. "Like it or not, you're going to have to drink blood from now on."

"No!" Matthew vehemently refused again. "I can't … I can't drink blood! I can't hurt anyone!" He shrank against the wall, flinching away when Sybil tried to reach out to him.

Mary opened the refrigerator and pulled out one of the donated blood bags Sybil had snatched from the hospital. "And you won't have to."

As soon as she took out the blood, Matthew's pale blue eyes shifted to a dark red, and his expression turned savage. He began to breath heavily, his parted lips revealing his sharp fangs. His fingernails, now long and pointed, scraped down the wall as he tried desperately to hang onto his last shred of control, but once that was extinguished, there was only rage and hunger in his red eyes. Matthew didn't look like himself anymore; for the first time in her life, Mary was afraid of him.

Sybil backed away quickly as Matthew hissed at her. "Mary, watch out!"

Mary only just dodged Matthew as he sped towards her in the blink of an eye. He snatched the blood bag from her hands and sanks his teeth into it. Within seconds he had swallowed every drop of blood within the bag. His lips and teeth were painted red, and his hands too were sticky with blood. Mary backed away from him, watching in horror as he threw he his head back and licked the blood from his fangs.

A low, dangerous growl escaped his throat. "More," he snarled, staring up at her with his red eyes.

Mary reached back into the refrigerator and threw another bag to in. He drained this one in a matter of seconds as well, drinking with a messy vigour. Blood dripped onto the floor and was smeared across his lips. He didn't show signs of slowing down, even after three more bags. Mary could only watch him gorge himself, acting more like a voracious monster than the Matthew she knew and loved. She felt his red eyes watch her as he swallowed the blood, as if he were considering her for his next meal. Sybil kept her distance, watching the scene with a horrified expression.

When Matthew finally stopped, dropping the final bag on the floor and panting hard, his mouth and chin were almost completely coated with blood. His shirt was stained a dark red as well. He fell to the floor, head drooping as though he were about to pass out. Cautiously, Mary bent down to him and gingerly touched his shoulder. He did not react violently, but he was trembling a little, his eyes shut tight.

"Matthew?" she murmured. "It's alright, you're alright."

When he opened his eyes again, they were once more a pale blue. "I'm sorry," he whispered through his bloody fangs. "Something came over me – I couldn't control myself."

"I know." Mary knelt down next to him, stroking his hair. "I expected you'd lose yourself."

Matthew shuddered, hugging himself. "God, it was like … like my life depended on it … on having that blood. I nearly hurt you."

"But you didn't," Mary reassured him.

Quietly, Sybil left the kitchen; she sensed that they needed to be alone now. Matthew forced himself to sit up against the kitchen cupboards, accidentally leaving a bloody handprint on the floor. His mouth and hands were still covered in blood, and he had spilled quite a lot on the floor.

"So this is my life now," he said bitterly. "Feeding on blood for who know how long."

"Stop talking like it's the end of things," Mary chided. She got down to the floor and sat beside him.

"It _is_ the end of things," he retorted. "How can I expect you to marry a monster like me?"

Mary could have slapped him. "How could you say something like this? I'm not leaving you because of this."

"You have to. Did you see what I just did, what I am now?"

Mary sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. "You've only known you're a vampire now for half an hour and already you're turning into the brooding sort."

Matthew groaned. "Mary, look at me. I just drank enough blood to kill a human. I'm a monster."

"Sure, and I'm an evil witch who lures children from the park and eats them," Mary quipped. "You aren't a monster, Matthew. You may be a vampire, but you'll never be a monster."

"Please just let me go, Mary. It'll make your life easier."

"I will do no such thing," Mary said sternly. "I'm keeping this engagement ring on." She waved her hand in front of Matthew's face, showing him the shining diamond ring he had proposed to her with. But Matthew gently pushed her hand away.

"You have to let me go," he insisted. "I can't hurt you. I could never … I could never bear it if I did."

Mary wouldn't back down, no matter what Matthew said. "You're staying here and that's final. You won't hurt me. I'll make sure you don't hurt anyone."

Matthew let out a cold laugh. "How?"

"I'm a witch, remember? I have my ways. And if you keep this up I'll put a silencing charm on you."

She cupped his cheek, not minding the cold blood on his skin. "Matthew, I love you too much to let you do this to yourself. I won't let you be alone, not while this is happening, and not ever. Do you understand me? I'm not going to give you up. We'll find a way to make this work. And we're going to be married just like we planned, and we'll be together. This isn't the end for us."

Matthew gazed up at her. "You're saying you won't leave? Even after what you've just seen?"

"I'm not leaving you," she repeated firmly. "Ever. And you're not leaving either. I won't let this curse be the end for us."

Matthew sighed, pulling her close to him. How could he leave her, knowing she would never do the same to him? "What would I do without you, my darling?"

"You'd brood even more, that's what," she answered.

And it wasn't the end for them. Just the beginning of a different life.

* * *

So those were the lives of the Crawley sisters. Witches in love with a werewolf, a ghost, and a vampire. Even amongst magical folk it was a rather uncommon situation. But they were all clever, and in their own ways they were able to make these unconventional relationships work.

The flat the Crawley sisters lived in had a basement, and the same morning she found Tom, Sybil decided that it would be the safest place for him to be in during the full moon. He'd go to the flat every evening and the door would be bolted shut with magical sigils so he couldn't escape. This arrangement seemed a good deal better to Tom, as the basement was empty and plenty of space compared to his family's garden shed. He was somewhat shocked to hear that Sybil and the rest of her family were witches, but considering that he himself was a werewolf it wasn't a great surprise.

The morning after his next transformation, Tom awoke in the basement, where a blanket, a fresh change of clothes, and the smell of a breakfast being cooked greeted him. In the kitchen, Sybil was preparing a full breakfast for him, and he scarfed it down within minutes. Sybil watched him wolf down his food, quite enraptured by this handsome Irish werewolf. Tom was amazed that she wasn't shy or afraid of him – she seemed to trust him instantly.

And with each full moon they'd do the same routine: Tom would arrive before the sun set, Sybil would lock the door with the special spells, Tom would transform and wait the night out, and in the morning Sybil would make him a large and delicious breakfast. They'd chat for a while afterwards; for hours they talked about Sybil's unconventional childhood, her current line of work, Tom's extensive family, the worlds they lived in. Sybil gave him several books about werewolfs (though some of the older books referred to his species as 'lycanthropes') and for the first time in his life, Tom began to understand what his curse meant.

For the first time in his life too, Tom began to grow close to someone who wasn't family. Sybil's charm, her vivacity, her kindness and her spirit were as inviting to him as a warm fire on a cold winter's day. And Sybil too began to develop feelings, though she couldn't put her finger on why: it was as though her sould and his somehow matched, like they were equals. He was so different from the warlocks she knew – Tom cared about her, wanted to make her smile, encouraged her dreams. It wasn't long before Tom asked her out one night.

Pretty soon, she had to admit to herself that the spark they shared had turned into love.

Life as a ghost took some time getting used to for Anthony, but he was always grateful that Edith was there to guide him. She never for a moment made him think that things were different between them or that her feelings for him had changed. She still wanted him to be a part of her life, even though he was not quite in the same plane of existence as her. No longer would she cook a dinner for him or take him out to eat, and no longer would she go to bed hoping that he'd make love to her. She had to bear not feeling his touch anymore, or receiving a tender kiss from him.

Yet they made love in other ways. Anthony was always close to her, and Edith always felt him. Every day Anthony would watch her work, witness her accomplishments and her setbacks, and night he'd settle down next to her in bed just like he did when alive. And in the morning Edith would bring him back with the ouija board. She didn't shudder anymore at the chill when he passed through her, for it was always a reminder that he was still with her, albeit in an odd way. They still had their small precious moments together, despite the great change set upon them.

At times, though, Anthony still felt a bit like a nuisance. He cared so much for Edith and he would never dream of hurting her, but he could not help but feel that he was keeping her back somehow. She was, simply put, tied down to a dead man, and that did not feel right to Anthony. If one day Edith decided that she was ready to move on, to let him pass on fully, he would not object to that. But Edith never hinted at any such thing, and so Anthony made no mention of it either. He wished only to keep her happy, and as the months went by she never seemed to be any less happy with him.

Matthew never made any further mention of leaving Mary, and eventually he realized it was for the best. Similar to how Tom was far more stable with Sybil's help, he was better off with Mary helping him adjust to his new form. And he began to realize that, despite his dread of losing his mind, he didn't want to leave Mary at all. He hadn't thought about leaving her when she revealed to him that she was a witch, so why should things be any different now that he was a vampire. So the engagement ring remained on Mary's finger.

His problem was that, after that first crazed feeding, he refused to consume another drop of human blood. Even though his body craved it, he couldn't bear the thought of losing control over himself again. Despite his unconscious urge to down every single packet of blood in the refrigerator, Matthew stayed far away from the kitchen, unwilling to tempt himself should he shift back into that frenzied, terrifying state. He'd nearly hurt Mary and Sybil the first time, and he wasn't about to risk it again.

But there was a solution to this, Mary discovered quickly. A blood substitute could be made that could staunch the cravings and keep him satisfied for a while. It had to be made fresh every day, and the first thing Mary did every morning was make it for him. The taste was a weak imitation of human blood, but for Matthew it sufficed. He'd have the potion while Mary had her tea, as if it was a completely normal thing for engaged couples to do at breakfast. The potion kept his thirst at bay for long enough, and it enabled him to be in close proximity with another human without feeling the urge to bite them. When Isobel saw him for the first time since his transformation, she was amazed at how normal he acted.

"It's almost as though he was never turned at all," she remarked.

"You didn't see him accidentally transform into a bat this morning," Mary replied dryly.

Aside from his need to drink blood, Matthew's curse had changed his life in other ways. For one thing, sunlight was now a problem; it wasn't going to burn him to ashes if he stepped out into it, but being a newly-turned vampire it would hurt him enormously if he was in it for too long. For the sake of avoiding any possible burning, Matthew decided it was better if he went out at night only, and Mary agreed that this was the safest option. Then there was the couple of times he unwittingly transformed into a bat or a wolf (which did startle Mary) and how he had some trouble controlling his uncanny strength and speed. He'd also need to mind the fact that, while he and other supernatural beings could see his reflection, humans could not. No matter what amount of normalcy Matthew felt he might achieve, something was always there to remind him of his curse.

But the worst reminder was the bloodlust that could not be quelled. Although the blood potion was a sufficient substitute, it didn't compare at all to the real thing, and something inside Matthew still ached to sink his teeth into a living human. Even the cold blood bags hadn't been enough to stem that urge to bite and drink from a human. Thought he knew Mary wouldn't like him keeping this horrible desire secret, Matthew never hinted at it to her. In his mind, it was better to appear as normal as it was possible for a vampire to appear.

Yes, the Crawley sisters and their supernatural lovers all had new normals to adjust to, but somehow they all managed to do so without losing sight of what was important: holding onto each other despite whatever madness their abnormal lives threw at them. All of them saw how powerful love and trust could be, despite their very different circumstances.

For the youngest Crawley witch, she had found love in a most unexpected way, and her lycanthrope boyfriend discovered a life worth living thanks to her compassion.

For the middle Crawley witch, death had not torn her lover away from her, but in a way she had been given more time with him. Her ghostly lover too understood that death could not separate them, and he had been given another chance to live a semi-life with her.

And for the eldest Crawley sister, she saw her fiancé's transformation into a vampire as merely a small obstacle to their eventual bliss as husband and wife. He could bury the monster within him and retain his true self, and could remain where his happiness lay – with the witch he promised to marry.

… But that could all change into a nightmare in the blink of an eye.

* * *

 _Dun dun duuuunnn!_

 _I hope you liked this (rather long) beginning chapter. Hopefully the next one will be up next week, if not earlier so stay tuned for more. Thank you for reading!_


	2. When the Moon is Round

_Thanks to all who read and reviewed this – your support is what keeps me going! I'm sorry that this fic is a bit late, as I lost some of my progress yesterday, but hopefully another nice long chapter will make things up for you all. I'm having a lot of fun writing this, even though it's about to get angsty, but don't worry, everything will turn out alright ... hopefully._

 _Keep reading and reviewing, and happy October!_

* * *

Chapter One: When the Moon is Round

 _One month until All Hallow's Eve_

The potion Sybil made for Tom before every full moon was the most difficult thing she ever had to do in all her years of practising her craft.

Everything about making the potion seemed to be as complex and laborious as it was possible to be. First, the ingredient list took up a whole page and a half in the potion book, and the actual recipe took another two pages. Nearly every ingredient was of the difficult-to-find variety, either being a plant that had to be picked under a certain moon or a material that was incredibly rare. Then the actual brewing took a day and a half, meaning Sybil had to start preparing it well in advance. She needed to take special care in putting in the exact amount of something, or not stirring the brew too much, or not adding an ingredient in too soon. And then Tom had to take it exactly one hour before sunset, not a minute sooner or later. It was of vital importance to follow the instructions exactly, as it would ensure the potion was not dangerous to consume – the inclusion of northern wolfsbane could easily turn it into a deadly poison.

It was easy to feel that it was more work than it was worth, considering it took longer to make than last. Brewing it took all of one's concentration and time. And yet every time she felt like giving up, she reminded herself that she was doing it to help Tom.

She had discovered the recipe for the potion in a withered book while looking for a tome about sprites. By then she had known Tom for several months, and he had started to come to her house every evening of the full moon. He'd wait out the night in the basement, the door locked tight with magical charms so he couldn't force his way out and destroy the house in his animalistic rage. It was a sufficient way to keep him from hurting anyone, but Sybil hated keeping him cooped up in a small, dark space. She wanted to help him in some other way, and once she discovered the potion recipe that would allow a werewolf to retain his human faculties when he transformed, she vowed to create it for him despite the risks that came with concocting it.

As she made the potion today, Sybil remembered with a silly grin the memory of Tom learning that the potion he would drink contained wolfsbane.

 _She'd been out getting a few more last-minute ingredients, though she had lost track of time and nearly forgot that the cauldron was on the fire. She had burst through the door with a wicker basket of plants and herbs under her arm, nearly whacking Tom (who was waiting for her) in the stomach. Mary was in the kitchen as well, minding the cauldron that was spilling purple smoke over the edges._

 _"_ _Has the potion burned?" Sybil gasped._

 _"_ _It's about to," Mary said dryly._

 _Sybil swore loudly and dropped the wicker basket, rushing to the cauldron and waving her hands about to magically extinguish the fire. She carefully took off the lid, giving the potion inside a stir and and a sniff. "It's alright," she sighed with relief. "Got here just in time."_

 _"_ _Barely," Mary sniffed. "If you had let me take it off the fire—"_

 _"_ _With all due respect, Mary," Sybil countered, "I'd prefer it if you didn't tamper with anything. This is a highly dangerous potion and I can't let anybody else touch it."_

 _Mary pursed her lips to keep from spewing anything nasty._

 _Tom picked the wicker basked up from the floor and put it on the table; it was loaded with a myriad of herbs and special plants, the names of which Tom was unfamiliar with. He wasn't even sure what exactly went into the potion he drank. "Do you need anything from here?"_

 _"_ _Yes. I need some of the asphodelus." Sybil took a handful of a plant from the basket and dropped it into the cauldron. The violet hue of the liquid turned grey._

 _Tom looked at the oddly coloured liquid, leaning forward and sniffing the strange scent of different herbs and ingredients mixed together. "Smells … about as bad as it tastes." The completed potion tasted like a steak-and-kidney pie that had been forgotten in the oven for too long, and it left a horribly bitter aftertaste on his tongue._

 _"_ _I know it smells revolting, but if it helps …" Sybil returned her attention to the smoking cauldron, and put a few more herbs into the mixture. "Mary, can you tell me how much northern wolfsbane it needs now?"_

 _Mary looked to the potion book propped up against a jug. "Three leaves," she answered quickly. Her nose crinkled at the smell of the potion._

 _Tom swallowed nervously and his eyes widened a bit. "Wolfsbane?" he repeated. "Isn't that … poisonous?"_

 _"_ _Don't worry, it won't be harmful in the potion," Sybil assured him. She picked three wolfsbane leaves from the stems and dropped them into the cauldron._

 _Even with her word, Tom's brow furrowed with uncertainty. He gave another apprehensive glance at the bubbling cauldron. "Are you sure it won't poison me?"_

 _Sybil started laughing at his expresson. "It didn't poison you the last time, did it?"_

Tom's horrified expression was still amusing to Sybil, and she giggled slightly as she prepared the current mixture. She still had to wait half an hour until a faint purple mist appeared on the surface of the liquid. The potion was almost complete, and when she was done could get started on cooking supper for herself and Tom. Tom was always famished before the full moon, and small wonder, for the transformation into a wolf burnt up a lot of energy. It was partially why werewolves were always ravenous right after they turned.

Sybil was so engrossed in her potion-making that she didn't hear Tom enter the house. A couple months into the routine of coming to her house for the full moon, Sybil gave him a key so he could let himself in when he needed to. When he came into the kitchen, she was still bent over the cauldron, recipe book in hand.

"Hello there," he said, causing Sybil to startle and nearly drop the book into the cauldron.

"Oh! Tom, you nearly made me lose the book!"

"Sorry love." Tom went over to her and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Sybil blushed, her cheeks rosy from both the heat of the cauldron and Tom's kiss. "Your potion's almost ready," she said.

Tom's nose twitched as he sniffed the air. With his heightened sense of smell, the nasty stench of the potion was much stronger to him. "Looking forward to tasting it," he said sardonically.

Sybil gave the potion another couple of stirs, double-checking the book. The recipe was too complex for her to attempt to make it without checking that she was doing everything right. "Oh, I hope I haven't forgotten to do anything. If I have, the potion won't work."

"And I might be poisoned," Tom added. "I'm sure you've done it right, love. You haven't poisoned me yet." His encouraging smile was nearly enough to reassure Sybil.

"Well, I hope you're right. Now hold still."

She had to collect the final ingredient to the potion – a couple of the werewolf's hairs. Sybil reached up and plucked a few of Tom's brown hairs from his head, dropping them into the cauldron. As Tom rubbed the stinging area of his scalp, the potion turned from a smoky purple to a murky brown, its final colour.

"There, finished!" Sybil shut the recipe book and checked the kitchen clock. "There's still about an hour and a half until sundown."

"I'd rather take it now and get it over with," Tom muttered.

"You know you can't," Sybil reminded him. She quoted the final instruction of the recipe. "'The potion must be drunk at the precise moment of sundown, not a minute earlier or a later.'"

Tom sighed. "Right. So I take it in half an hour."

"Correct."

The door to the kitchen opened and Edith entered, going straight to an ingredients cupboard. "Are you using the oil of gold?"

"Nope. All yours," Sybil answered. Edith removed a tiny bottle from the cupboard labelled 'oil of gold.' Whatever that was, Tom couldn't be sure. "What are you working on?" he asked Edith.

"It's a suprise," Edith told him. "Though it's a surprise that's taking longer than I thought."

Sybil whispered to Tom, "She's been in the library for most of the week. She's absolutely adamant we don't know about what she's doing. I think it has something to do with Sir Anthony."

Edith blinked quickly, hearing Sybil's words. "Maybe, maybe not. But don't you dare come into the library without knocking first. I need privacy for … whatever I'm doing."

She quickly exited the kitchen and went back into the library. It was her favorite room of the house, where she spent much of her time, and Tom usually saw her with a book in hand or open in front of her. The library wasn't a very large room, just a little nook with shelves all along the walls and books scattered across the floor and tables, but it still had the witchy atmosphere that the rest of the house possessed.

"What could Edith possibly do with Sir Anthony that she wants to keep a secret?" Tom asked Sybil.

"I don't know, but she's working hard at it. She and Anthony have been in the library since six this morning, and no one else has been allowed in there."

Tom had a mischievous glint in his eye now. "Then I suppose we'll just have to make out here, instead of against the bookshelves like we planned." He placed his strong hands on Sybil's hips, leaning closer to her.

"Did we plan that together, or was it just _your_ fantasy?" Sybil smirked, wrapping her arms around around Tom's neck. "Although now that I think about it, it does sound like rather a lot of fun," she added coyly.

"Perhaps we could do it here?" Tom suggested, nodding his head towards the shelves and cupboards in the kitchen.

"You know we can't, we'd break every jar," Sybil scoffed lightly.

"Then I guess we'll just have to settle for the table. We do have time for this, don't we?"

"I told you, sundown isn't for a while. We've got plenty of time."

"Alright then."

As easily as if Sybil was a doll, Tom lifted her up so she was sitting on the table, carefully minding the small cauldron and glass bottles littered across the surface. Sybil wrapped her legs around his waist, keeping him pinned against the edge of the table. Tom emitted a low growl, sounding not unlike a hungry wolf. He loved these intimate moments with Sybil, where it was just the two of them and their desires. Ever since their first date, which had ended in Sybil's bedroom, Tom learned what Sybil liked best and he did what he could to give her pleasure. A kiss that lasted several minutes, for starters …

Tom felt more at home here than in his own lonely flat. He would never have imagined a witch's house to be so cozy, but that's exactly the feeling he got when he was inside. The Crawley sisters were a very welcoming family, even if at first Mary and Edith had some hesitations about holding a werewolf in their basement during the full moon. They were always working at some charm or potion, and the house was filled with spell books and magical objects and ingredients lining the kitchen shelves. Their broomsticks rested by the coat hooks as though they were ordinary umbrellas. Their black cat familiars – named Anna, Thomas, and Gwen – were always prowling about, though they were all cautious around Tom when it was close to the full moon.

And then there were the other supernatural beings that resided in the house, namely Matthew and Sir Anthony. Tom and Sir Anthony got along well enough, but it was him and Matthew who had hit it off from the start and quickly became friends. Even before Matthew became a vampire they had bonded over their shared experiences with the supernatural world and having witches as partners, and being the same age certainly helped their friendship grow. Tom was glad for Matthew's presence, for without him he was sure he'd miss his brother and cousins even more than he already did.

Of course, Sybil was the one person he could never live without. And right now, in this moment with her, she was the only thing in his thoughts.

Unfortunately, those thoughts shattered when the kitchen door burst open. Sybil quickly let go and pushed Tom away and he stumbled back against the wall, right before Mary stepped into the kitchen.

"Hello there," Sybil said, nonchanlantly sliding off the table.

Mary returned her greeting with a confused frown. "What are you two up to in here?"

"Just making Tom his potion," Sybil replied.

"Is sitting on the table part of the potion making?"

"No. It's all done anyway."

"Then what are you actually doing in here?" Mary stared her sister down for an appropriate answer.

Sybil planted her hands on her hips. "I'm getting ready to make us supper. And what are _you_ doing here, may I ask?"

"I have to get Matthew's blood substitute," Mary answered. "Like I usually do." The blood substitute was sitting on the countertop since the morning; it was a potion she could make in advance.

"Where is Matthew?" Tom asked.

"Sleeping," Mary answered. "It's getting harder for him to stay awake during the day."

"Is that a good or a bad thing?"

Mary simply shrugged. "It's normal. Oh by the way, we're going out tonight, so there's no need to make me any dinner," she said to Sybil.

"Right, so it's just me, Tom and Edith," Sybil noted. "Unless Edith's big surprise is that Anthony can now eat food."

"Is she still in the library?" Mary groaned when Sybil nodded. "Ugh, she's been there all day and she wouldn't let me go in!"

Sybil nodded. "I know. She wouldn't let me in either. She's planning something big, that's for certain."

"As long as it isn't what you two were planning to do in here," Mary said pointedly, "because I _know_ what you were doing two seconds before I walked in. You can't fool me."

Tom blushed while Sybil started giggling furiously. Mary rolled her eyes, but she couldn't be totally cross with them – they were mad for each other, just as she was with Matthew, and how many times had Sybil seen the aftermath of a necking session on Mary?

But she wasn't going to stick around if Tom and Sybil planned to have some further intimacy. She promptly left the kitchen with the blood substitute in hand, shutting the door behind her.

"Alone at last – again," Sybil smirked, letting out another little giggle. She went over to the pantry, looking for something to cook for the two of them. "Poor Mary. I don't think she's used to the idea that I'm dating you."

"It shouldn't be that big of a deal for her," Tom remarked. "She's the one who's engaged to a vampire."

"I don't think it's because you're a werewolf," Sybil said. "I think it's because it's _you_. Like, who you are normally. With your journalism and big ideas and such."

Tom shrugged. "I can't change that anymore than I can change what happens to me every month."

"I know," Sybil sighed. She sat herself on the table again. "Now, where were we?"

"I think we were … here." Tom leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers, his hands finding their way to her hips. Sybil wrapped her arms around him, and for a few blissful moments the rest of the world melted away.

She had not fallen for Tom because he was a werewolf, though that added a special something to him. Instead, she felt they were two of the same kind, both open-minded and free-spirited. They both sought to have purpose in the world, to be true to themselves and to each other. It didn't matter if Tom was a werewolf or not, for she was sure that she'd have somehow met him and fallen for him anyway. She couldn't imagine being with anyone besides Tom; she always felt perfect when she was with him.

In more ways than one, Sybil was responsible for giving Tom a life for himself. She helped get him a journalist position at a newspaper, and while Tom didn't yet have a lot of freedom to write about what he wanted, he still felt satisfied with his work. She found him a nice flat a few blocks away from her own home, and she often went over to his flat for a cup of tea and a late night chat – and more recently a night together. She helped him understand his 'condition,' helped him realize he could live a semi-normal life even when things were anything but ordinary on the full moon.

In return, Tom had given her his love. And Sybil had accepted it.

Sybil was the one who broke away from the kiss first. "I should get dinner started now. And you'll have to take the potion soon."

"I know," Tom murmured. "I'll help you with dinner."

Together, they made a lovely pasta dish with a beef and tomato sauce – not only was Sybil quite adept at potion making, she was also teaching herself to cook and she was getting rather good at it. At the precise correct moment, Tom swallowed every drop the potion (and made a disgusted face right afterwards). Eating the dinner helped remove the bitter aftertaste, as well as giving him the nourishment he needed.

They chatted about little things, just small talk really, at first – until Tom revealed something that had been swimming in his mind for the past few hours.

"I got a letter in the post today," Tom said through a mouthful of pasta. "From Damien."

"Your cousin?" Sybil inquired. "The one you attacked?"

Tom nodded, still full of regret for attacking Damien months ago. "Same one. He knows where I am somehow. Said he wants to come and visit."

"Maybe he read an article of yours and tracked you down?" Sybil suggested. "Why is he coming now? Did he say?"

"Didn't say why," Tom muttered. "Just that he wants to see me again."

Sybil could see the pain behind Tom's eyes; attacking his cousin was still an unpleasant memory for him, even though he could barely remember it. "Does Damien know … about you being a werewolf?"

"I'm not sure, but if he wants to see me then I'm thinking he might." Tom fell silent as he chewed another mouthful of pasta.

"Would you like Damien to come here?" asked Sybil.

"Of course I do. The last time I saw him, I was trying to rip him to shreds." Tom set his fork down. "I suppose that, if he doesn't already know, that I should tell him the truth. That it was me who maimed him that night. Jesus, I must have given him a couple of scars," he said in a whisper. "He was my best friend growing up, and then I try and tear him to pieces."

Sybil placed her hand over his and grasped it. "It wasn't your fault Tom, you had no control then. And frankly, I think Damien should have been told the truth before the attack. Then he might not have gone to the garden shed that morning."

"I still feel like I have to be guilty about it," Tom said quietly. "He needed a transfusion and so many stitches all over him … I keep thinking about what might have happened if I had killed him – or bitten him."

"But you didn't—"

"Only thanks to my father and his shotgun."

Tom's voice was rising and becoming more aggressive, and there was a low growling undertone. He leaned back in his chair, sucking in a deep breath. "It's going to happen soon. I can feel it starting – the burning in my chest."

Sybil's heart sank; the time for him to retreat had come all too quickly. Still, Tom did not hesitate in going down to the basement, and Sybil followed soon after carrying plenty of warm blankets for when he transformed back.

"You'll be alright," she assured him, as she always did. She hated leaving him in the basement, but it was the only space big enough for Tom's wolf form. She would much rather have him be in the garden, in the fresh air, but he risked destroying the herbs growing in the plots.

Still, since he had been taking the potion, he wasn't as violent as he had been before, and for the most part the potion rendered him calm and sleepy. When she knew for sure Tom wouldn't harm her, Sybil had taken to sleeping down in the basement with him. She would place a warming spell on the room so neither of them would be cold, and she had a spare mattress made up for herself. Often Tom would curl up by the foot of her mattress, ears and nose twitching as he snored.

Tom began taking off his clothes to avoid tearing them to shreds and Sybil turned to face the wall to give him some privacy. In truth, Tom wouldn't have minded if Sybil was looking at him – she had seen him naked plenty of times, and this was such a normal occurance, but he didn't object to her being courteous.

"Does it still hurt when you turn?" Sybil asked him, still with her back turned towards him. "I was hoping the potion might make it hurt less."

"At the best of times, it's uncomfortable," Tom replied as he pulled his shirt off. "But I hardly notice the pain anymore."

"I could run upstairs and give you a pain relief potion," Sybil offered.

"Thanks love, but …" He paused for a second as he unzipped his trousers and kicked them off. "I can deal with it."

For a moment, Sybil had a mind to march upstairs anyway and give him the potion anyway. It wasn't too late, according to her special watch that marked the time of sunset. Tom was just putting on a brave face – she knew it had to be more painful to turn than he was letting on. His human body literally shifted into that of a giant wolf, how could it not cause him some pain?

"I'm going to get the potion, just stay here—"

"No!" Tom cried out. The pains in his chest were increasing, a sure sign that the transformation would start in perhaps just a few seconds. "What if … what if it ruins the other potion?"

Sybil hadn't thought of that – what if the pain-relieving potion nullified the other, more important potion. Then she'd be trapped in the basement with a vicious werewolf that would see her as easy prey.

And it was too late for the pain-relieving potion anyhow: Sybil's watched chimed the moment of sundown.

Tom clutched his breast, the pressure on his heart sending him to his knees. Sybil watched helplessly as he began to moan, panting hard … then the moans became growls. She could see him grit his teeth, his four canines elongating and sharpening into savage fangs too big for his human jaw. His irises became bright gold, and within seconds he would be seeing his surroundings through a wolf's eyes.

The sight of Tom's human semblance melting away was horrifying to witness. Yet Sybil did not look away.

He snarled as the pain spread across every inch of his body. His hands became paws tipped with long, curling claws, and he grew a snout and pointed ears. He whined and groaned as his spine and his limbs lengthened and his fur emerged from his skin. He could feel every part of his body mutate into his wolf form – but he did not feel his mind slip away as he usually did. The animalistic mindset that replaced his human one was held back thanks to the potion.

The transformation took only a minute, and Sybil looked at the fully-turned werewolf lying on its side on the floor. "Tom?" she tentatively called out.

Tom breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling. He managed to stand up on all fours and looked at Sybil. He seemed to recognize her, and she was a comforting sight to him while he was in this inhuman form. He seemed dazed, but that was normal as his senses took another minute to adjust. His eyesight was more powerful now, and he could see every crack in the stone and every speck of dust in the air. His sense of smell too was heightened to an amazing degree, and he felt as though he could smell everything that had ever been in the basement: wild plants and herbs, various minerals, deceased animals – and the distinct scent of Sybil. He trod over to her, sniffing her as if to make sure it was actually her.

"You're alright Tom," she murmured. "You're safe."

Tom's tail began to swing back and forth – under the potion's influence, he acted much like a pet dog. His maw opened in what was meant to be a smile, though it looked quite uncanny with his sharp teeth. Nevertheless, Sybil grinned in return, pleased that the potion had been successful once again. She scratched his muzzle, giggling at how ridiculous it was for her to be rubbing her boyfriend's snout like he was the family dog, but she knew it made him feel at ease.

"You're a good boy, aren't you Tom?" she teased. "Yes you are, yes you are!"

Tom panted in response, his attempt at laughing.

Soon both of them settled down for the night, Tom lying by Sybil's head and Sybil burying her fingers in Tom's fur. She didn't mind his hot breath or his snoring as she tried to fall asleep. His warmth was like a blanket to her, and his presence soothed any worries she had. Though he was in his wolf form, it was still Tom underneath the fur, and she didn't love him any less than when he was in his human form.

How lucky she was, she mused as she drifted off to sleep, to have Tom Branson in her life.

* * *

Even after sundown, Edith and Anthony were still toiling away in the library, as they had been for the entirety of the day. Edith blinked tiredly as she poured the oil of gold she had collected from the kitchen into her cauldron. A pure white mist emerged, drifting towards Anthony.

 _Will it work this time?_ Edith wondered.

To her dismay, the white mist passed right through Anthony. It was supposed to give life to inanimate objects, but it clearly did not recognize Anthony at all.

"Oh well," Anthony sighed.

Edith was quite at her wit's end. For an entire week, she had been trying to come up with any potions, ointments, creating incantations and conducting small séances with her ouija board … anything that could bring Anthony back into the mortal world. It wasn't exactly necromancy – that was a dark craft and the magical council forbade it from being practised. She was merely trying to give Anthony a corporeal form, to allow him to feel and touch as though he were still alive.

It was for a purely selfish reason: so she could touch Anthony once again. But nothing she had attempted so far had yielded any real results, and her labor was starting to take its toll.

"I'm starting to think this is hopeless. We've been doing this for a week with no luck." She defeatedly waved her hand to the spellbooks and tomes lying open on the table.

"You mustn't give up yet," Anthony urged. "I feel as though you're getting closer."

Edith sighed. "But I still feel so far away from making any real progress. What if I've only made a fool of myself? There's no reason to believe this is even possible. Oh, I was sure the oil of gold mixture would work … "

Anthony could sense the weariness in Edith's voice. "Perhaps we ought to give things a rest for the night."

"Not just yet," Edith decided. "We'll try one last spell. I have some ideas." She picked up her writing quill and began to ink another possible incantation onto a blank page.

Anthony wafted closer to her, wishing he could rest a hand on her shoulder to comfort her. He admired that she was still able to come up with spells even after hours of trying and failing, but he was still concerned she'd suffer from the need for rest. "Darling, I know how important this is to you, and I wholly believe you _can_ do it. But I do think it's time you went to bed."

"No, I can't yet," she repeated, her eyes still glued to the page she was writing on. "I have to write this out before I lose it. I can't just go to bed and let myself forget it. What if _this_ is the one that succeeds?"

She had said that about all the other methods for the past few hours. And none of them had done anything extraordinary. Anthony was about to say to her that this wasn't necessary, that he was perfectly fine being a transparent apparition – but he did want her to succeed in her project, desperately. He too wanted to be able to touch Edith again, to hold her hand in stressful times such as tonight. But not if it came at a cost to Edith.

She scribbled out a spell onto the page, pausing only to think about what she wanted to write next. Anthony waited patiently beside her, peeking over her arm to spy at the words. He didn't fully comprehend how to write a spell besides rhyming a few words like a poem, but Edith was usually quite good at it. Creating simple spells was her calling – she simply had a special way with words that her sisters didn't. She had once invented a spell to keep floors clean without having to sweep or mop them, as well as one that could enable a quill pen to never run out of ink. They were all fairly simply however, and in attempting to create this spell she was going far beyond her capabilities. A spell to give an apparition a corporeal form had never been attempted as far as she knew, and she wasn't even certain it was possible.

"I think I have something worth trying," Edith said after a few minutes. She picked up the tome and held it open. "Right, here goes."

Anthony stood as motionless as he could as she read aloud the incantation:

 _I speak to thee, wandering spirit_

 _Be of the mortal world once again_

 _Attain the form of flesh you covet_

 _And walk amongst the still living men_

A silvery mist was forming around her hands. She repeated the incantation, closing her eyes as she concentrated. Anthony felt a shiver go through him, and he wondered if this time Edith would succeed. The silver mist at Edith's hands drifted towards him, encircling his own hands, and Anthony felt a warmth like he was standing over a fire. It did not burn, but after going so long without feeling either hot or cold, it was a bit of a shock to him, and he unwittingly gasped.

Edith snapped out of her reverie. "What is it?"

"I think it's working!" Anthony exclaimed. "I can feel the mist – it's warm!"

But as soon Edith had stopped speaking the incantation, the mist began to dissolve. "Hurry! Keep saying the spell!" Anthony urged.

Quickly, Edith resumed the spell, and the mist returned to her hands. It flowed towards Anthony's hands and rose up his arms, to his shoulders, and to his head. It wrapped around his torso and wove around his legs, enveloping Anthony like a mummy's shroud. He could feel the strange warmth all over his body.

 _It has to be working_! he thought with delight. This had never happened before; would the silvery mist give him corporeal form next?

Edith chanted another verse, and suddenly – Anthony's fingers appeared! They were very pale, a greyish color, but they were real and not just an illusion. He could feel each individual digit and he wriggled them to show Edith. "Look! I can feel them!"

"Oh my goodness," Edith breathed.

The grey fleshy color of his fingers was traveling up his hands, then his arms, spreading throughout his body in the same pattern as the silver mist a moment before. His clothes too took a physical form, their hue fainter than they had been in real life. The overal greyness of Anthony's form didn't concern either of them so much; Anthony could feel his own body, and that meant a great deal. Finally, Edith's magic had worked!

Soon Anthony was standing there, completely solid. The mist dissolved, but he stood there, as tangible as a human.

"I don't believe it!" he whispered. "You've done it, my dear Edith."

"I can't believe it either!" Edith looked awfully close to tears. "Try and pick something up now, see if you can hold it."

Anthony reached towards a book lying on the table. To his amazement, he was able to hold it in his grasp. It did not fall through his fingers.

"Does this mean … can we?" he stuttered.

"Let's see," Edith replied, outstretching her hand towards Anthony's.

Tentatively, he reached for her small hand, and he let out a gasp when he felt her warm fingers in his palm. Edith let out a shudder when he gripped her hand. "Your hands … they're so cold."

Anthony shrugged. "Well, I am dead, aren't I? I'm still a … still only a ghost, technically."

"It doesn't matter," Edith said softly, resting her eyes on their entwined fingers. "We can touch again. It feel so strange after so long and yet …"

"Yet so right," Anthony said, saying exactly what Edith had been thinking. "My sweet one, I cannot begin to thank you for this!"

Edith shook her head. "There's no need to."

"There's every need to. I've dreamt of this moment since the day I died!" Anthony exclaimed. He was grinning from ear to ear, and he had never looked more excited than he did right now. Edith too was beyond happy.

"So have I," she murmured. "And I – oh no!"

Without warning, her hand fell through Anthony arm. The spell was already waning, and he began to fade back into an apparition before her eyes.

"No … no no no, you're fading away!" she cried. "It's too soon!"

"I'm sorry Edith, I don't know what's happening!" Anthony looked helplessly at himself as he once more became see-through. Within a minute, he was once again an ethereal ghost.

Edith collapsed into a chair, trembling as a sob shook through her. "I thought I did it! After so many things not working … I'd thought I'd done it!"

"But you did," Anthony reminded her. He too was disappointed that the spell had not lasted longer, but he was not going to dwell on that. "The important thing was that you managed it, if only for a moment."

"Only for a short moment," Edith cried, shaking her head. "I don't understand why it didn't last longer."

Anthony could see how distressed Edith was over this. "And you _will_ figure it out – tomorrow. You ought to go up and rest. You'll be in much better of a state to work on the spell if you've had some sleep, I'm sure."

Edith sighed, wiping her face and streaking her tears across her cheeks. "I just … I was so happy to finally feel your touch again, and then it just faded away all of a sudden."

"I'm sorry," Anthony started to say.

"No, it isn't your fault. But I _have_ to figure out how to make the spell last longer," Edith declared. "Tomorrow, as you said."

Anthony nodded. "Good girl."

Edith stood up, pushing her chair in and closing the spellbook she had been working in. She was still disappointed the spell had worn off too quickly, but it was better than nothing. After a week of hard work, she was glad something had produced a result. "I suppose I should have realized that it wouldn't work completely right the first time. Spells always need a little bit of revising."

"And you've done so well already," Anthony insisted.

He accompanied her to the kitchen so she could get herself some dinner. The basement door was shut, meaning that Tom and Sybil were down there. Mary had her date night as well, so she wouldn't be joining them. It would be just the two of them now, which Edith was glad for.

"When will you tell the others about your accomplishment?"Anthony asked.

"Not until it's complete," Edith answered. She got a clean plate and helped herself to some of the pasta still in the pot on the stove. "I want it to be a suprise for everyone. Have you walk into a room like you're a regular human."

"Well, that would be terribly surprising, I would imagine," Anthony chuckled. "Might give some people quite a shock."

Edith sat down at the table and dug her fork into her pasta. Anthony floated on top of a chair beside her. "What I'm hoping to achieve is to have the spell last for maybe an hour or so. Certainly longer than half a minute," Edith explained. "I don't think I could make it to be permanent. There are very few spells that are permanent.

"Do you know any ways you can manage that?"

"I have a few ideas, but they may not work. I've been looking through every book we have on ghosts and spirits and I don't know if I'll find anything to help me in them."

"No matter. I'm sure you'll come up with a solution anyway."

Edith nodded. _I have to_ , she thought. _I have to keep trying for Anthony_.

Now that she had known Anthony's touch for the first time in a year, she wanted to feel it again. It hardly mattered to her that when she touched him his skin felt like ice. She wanted to melt into his arms and feel him lying beside her in bed, to kiss his lips and his cheek. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and draw him close to her. Most of all, she wanted to make love to him again.

They had a chance at a real future together now, she was sure. It would be possible for Anthony to do so much with a corporeal form, to walk among other people as though he were still alive. Perhaps humans would be able to see him now! Perhaps he could eat and drink and sleep normally and whatever else he couldn't as an invisible ghost. They could go on dates and cook meals for each other, just as they used to. Life would be almost as though Anthony had never died. The thought of that sent Edith into a fit of happy laughter.

She however still had to solve the problem of the spell wearing off too quickly. If she didn't manage it, then it was all for naught.

As they traveled up the stairs to Edith's bedroom, a strange shudder passed through Anthony. It was an icy chill, and it came from nowhere – Anthony had never felt anything like it before. But it passed as quickly as it went, and he said nothing to Edith about it.

 _Just an aftereffect of the spell_ , he told himself. _Nothing to be worried about._

But he couldn't shake the shiver of fear that passed through him like the icy chill.

* * *

"Matthew?" Mary poked her head into the bedroom, blood substitute in hand. "Are you up yet?"

She heard Matthew yawn into the pillow. Clearly, he wasn't making an effort to wake up. "Five more minutes," he mumbled.

"It's past sundown," Mary informed him.

 _That_ jolted him awake. Matthew raised his head quickly and reached over for the alarm clock. "Shit," he muttered. "I didn't think it was as late as that."

"For your kind, it's early," Mary remarked. Matthew liked to forget that he was a vampire.

As he sat up and rubbed his eyes, Matthew groaned, "I couldn't sleep for most of last night. I think I fell asleep close to morning. Then I guess I couldn't wake up. It's getting harder to stay awake during the day."

"That's normal, considering you're supposed to be nocturnal."

Matthew let out a short laugh. "'Supposed to be.' Doesn't mean I want to be."

Mary would have thought that, by now, Matthew would be used to his vampirism and perhaps would stop acting like he was still human. She could forgive his reluctance to drink human blood from any source, but if he was rebelling against his new sleep patterns she'd box his ears. It wasn't going to do him any good in the long run. Sooner or later he'd have to understand that trying to live like he did as a human wasn't going to work any longer.

She went over to the bed and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Here you are," she said, handing the potion to Matthew. "The usual."

Matthew sat up and threw the sheets off himself. "Thank you darling."

He took the glass from Mary's hands. The liquid sloshing inside was a crimson hue, not quite as dark as real blood, and it had only the faintest hint of a bloody smell. The taste too was a weak imitation of the real thing. Matthew disliked remembering the exquisite taste of human blood because it made him crave it again, and it was a hunger that the blood substitute could not fully satisfy. But he would not give in to any temptation he had. That was one part of his curse he would not give in to, he had sworn from the beginning.

He drained the potion in a matter of seconds and set the empty glass down on the bedside table. Mary nodded at him with approval. "Feel alright now?"

"Never better."

"Good. Now get up and get dressed. You're taking me out tonight, remember?"

Matthew stood up from the bed. "Of course I remember. You wouldn't ever let me forget." He glanced at the clock. "Why don't we leave in an an hour or so?"

"Perfect." Mary sauntered into the walk-in closet to search for a nice going-out outfit. "I promise I'll be ready by then."

Matthew rubbed his eyes once more before trudging into the bathroom. He splashed icy-cold water on his face, and within a few minutes he was feeling as alert as he would in the middle of the day. He felt quite invigorated actually, which he wouldn't have thought possible for someone to feel after sleeping for a whole day. Then again, his 'kind' were meant to sleep during the day.

He should have known this would happen eventually. It was becoming harder to sleep during the night and he often felt drowsy during the day. And it was becoming harder to keep pretending that he could live almost exactly as he did when he was human. His curse was changing almost every aspect of his life, every part of him, and he had to concede that he couldn't keep resisting or denying these changes. Obviously his diet had undergone the most immediate and drastic change, but there were other little changes too that he could not avoid … such as looking in the mirror and seeing an undead vampire staring back at him, fangs and all. There was no more fooling himself into believing he could still act human – the reality of his vampirism was becoming forcibly clearer by the day.

Matthew didn't want to accept it, but he had to. He was a vampire now, and his life was forever altered.

But life wasn't all bad, he tried to tell himself. He was grateful to still have Mary in his life, helping him through the unknowns of his curse. His mother wasn't the least bit afraid of him, and she too was doing her best to understand his situation. And Mary's family was every bit as supportive as he could have hoped for.

So why did he feel so alone sometimes?

To some degree, Tom did understand what he was going through – having the shared experience of being unwittingly turned into a monster and all that – but Matthew was always quick to remind him that he didn't have an insatiable blood lust to mind every single day. Frankly, Tom's curse only existed on full moons while Matthew had to bear his all the time. And Mary, even with all her books about supernatural creatures, could never fathom what went through his mind when he looked in the mirror or drank the blood substitute.

When he was dressed and groomed, he went downstairs to wait for Mary. Since it was past sundown, he guessed that Tom had already transformed and was waiting out the night in the basement; Sybil would also be with him. Edith was probably still holed up in the library, just as she had been for most of the past week, still at whatever she was doing. So it was just Matthew by himself in the front hallway, until Mary came down the stairs. She found him standing in front of the mirror, doing a final inspection of his appearance, which included scrutinizing his fangs.

"Do you think people notice my teeth?" Matthew asked, still fixated on his reflection. "Or do they just not mention them?"

"You're fine," Mary answered with a good-natured eye roll. "No one's pulled out a wooden stake on you yet. And some people just have naturally long canine teeth."

"I think most people are intelligent enough to know the difference between normal teeth and fangs."

He turned around to face Mary. She was wearing a smart combination of black trousers and an ivory blouse with a deep red blazer. Red that was the color of blood, Matthew's mind immediately jumped to.

"Ready to go?" Mary asked. "I'm yours for the whole night." She'd taken an anti-fatigue potion that was guaranteed to keep her alert and awake for the entire night. With Matthew being able to stay awake until dawn, she thought it best that she was able to do the same.

Matthew nodded. "Where would you like to go?"

Mary paused, pretending to give the matter some thought, though she had come up with a plan the previous morning. "A classic date night. Bar first, then a movie."

Matthew wasn't at all surprised by her choices. "Which movie were you thinking?"

"I don't know. Let's surprise ourselves. Dramatic or romantic is best, obviously."

"Of course." Like an Edwardian gentleman, Matthew held his arm out so that Mary might take it. "My lady," he quipped, and Mary chuckled at the reference to her noble blood. She was hardly called lady anymore, except when Matthew was trying to make her feel special.

Even though she was on Matthew's arm, it was Mary who led the way to their usual bar, a high-end looking establishment but still priced well within their means. Matthew had been taking Mary here since they had been dating. It had a rich but cozy, opulent but inviting atmosphere, the conversations quiet and the jazz on the speakers soft. It was the perfect place for an intimate talk or a peaceful end-of-day drink, and Mary often came here by herself at the end of a long week for a glass of wine or a martini.

And luckily for Matthew there were hardly any decorative mirrors on the walls, so the chances of a human wandering by and seeing the absence of his reflection were slim.

Tonight it wasn't so busy after sunset, and they were able to get a pair of barstools at the countertop. Mary ordered herself a Pinot, and Matthew a whiskey. Alcohol apparently had no effect on vampires, Matthew had discovered (though frankly it didn't seem to have any effect for Mary either – she could drink three full glasses of wine and still walk straight), but he wasn't eager to try and drink enough to send a human under the table.

Mary took a long sip of her wine before mentioning, "I think we should take this time to talk about the wedding."

Matthew felt himself stiffen, his fingers wrapping tighter around his whiskey glass. "I don't know if—"

"Oh pipe down," Mary shushed him. "It's in two months and there's still things we need to decide on. We keep putting it off. I just think that talking about it here might be more relaxing than cornering you at home."

Matthew swallowed. "But now you're cornering me here."

"Because I have to." Mary could sense Matthew's dread of the subject, and it was very much like him to avoid an uncomfortable topic than confront it, but it was also distressing to think that he was avoiding the matter of the wedding. "Matthew, why do you keep dodging me? A few months ago you were absolutely thrilled with the idea of planning our wedding."

"Yes, well that was before _this_ ," he gestured to his sharp teeth, "happened."

Mary paused for a moment – maybe she had been wrong to bring this up now on their night out. "What does that matter? We agreed the wedding was going to take place at the decided date. You're not thinking of postponing it, are you?"

"No, we can keep the date the way it is—"

"And if you're worried about the photographer, I promise we don't have to—"

"Mary please, I'm not worried about the photographer," Matthew interrupted gently. "I'm worried about …" He hesitated, finally sighing with resignation. "The vampire who turned me targeted me at our engagement party. What if he decides to hurt or turn somebody else at the wedding?"

Mary pressed her lips together; she was ashamed to realize that she had hardly thought about why Matthew had been turned at their engagement party, and more importantly who had turned him. The fact that Matthew believed it might happen at their wedding wasn't a far-fetched notion. "Do you really think that could happen?"

Matthew sighed. "It's possible. Maybe the engagement party was just the beginning."

"Beginning of what? Some sort of plan?"

"I can't tell you. I just feel that … I was turned for a reason, it obviously wasn't by accident." He lowered his voice as the bartender passed them. "What if the vampire that turned me was trying to tear us apart? Do something that would make us cancel the wedding or break up?"

"He would have succeeded if you had had your way and called off the wedding," Mary muttered. "Besides, who could possibly want us to break up? I don't know anyone who would want that, at least anyone who was at the engagement party."

Matthew couldn't fault her for not wanting to bring up the obvious theory. "What about an ex of yours?"

Mary let out a short laugh. "As far as I am aware, I never dated a vampire before you. And I'm sure none of them know about the engagement."

"Your parents put the engagment announcment in the paper, remember?" Matthew recalled one morning opening up the paper and seeing his name and Mary's under the 'engagments' column. "What if they learnt about it there?"

"Still, no one but the guests knew about the party, and I didn't invite any exes, vampires, or vampire exes for that matter."

Even so, Mary could feel a degree of anxiety gripping her, and she waved her hand impatiently to the bartender. "Another glass of Pinot, please."

"Well, I didn't invite anyone that might have a problem with the two of us either," Matthew insisted. "And I still have no clue who it was, besides it being a man. I have no memory of that night past you requesting that I get you another drink."

Mary twirled around the stem of her empty wine glass, staring at her faint reflection, remembering her panic at realizing Matthew was missing. She'd sent him away expecting to have him deliver another glass of wine to her, and instead their lives were change irrevocably. "That's not your fault. You were likely being hypnotized. If anything, I was the one that let you out of my sight —"

"It's not your fault either, you couldn't have predicted it."

"I don't know. I do feel as though I should have been more careful, that somehow I let something slip under the radar. If I had been with you the entire time, you wouldn't have been snatched right out from everyone's nose." She sighed, taking a sip from her new glass of wine. "I still can't believe no one saw or recognized the vampire that took you. It's not like he was invisible, the bartender saw him! There had to be someone who saw or even knew who he was …"

Matthew didn't say anything in response. Mary glanced up at him and caught him fixated on something. She followed his line of sight and discerned where it ended – the bartender's neck.

She felt her heart skip a beat. This was something she'd never seen him do before. And she was horrified to admit that he looked … hungry. But he couldn't be, she had watched him take the blood substitute!

She gave Matthew a small poke in the arm and he jolted as though being shaken out of a spell.

"What's up with you?" she hissed. "You were looking at him like you wanted to eat him!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was doing it." Matthew rubbed his head and took a gulp of whistly. The bartender moved down the counter, further away from the two of them. Thankfully he didn't give any indication that he had noticed Matthew staring at him.

Mary's brow furrowed. "I don't understand it, the blood substitute should have killed the cravings."

"It did. But it doesn't kill the smell," Matthew told her. His jaw was clenched. "I can still smell them all."

Mary saw his knuckles go white as he gripped the edge of the counter. He was straining against his primal urges, thanks to him being able to smell everyone in the bar. Mary hadn't realized this could happen – he'd never told her that he was still able to smell people's blood.

"Matthew, do you want to leave?" she asked.

Shaking his head, Matthew inhaled deeply. "I'm fine, I promise."

He always had to act like nothing was the matter when it clearly wasn't. "You're not fine. Why didn't you say anything? Have you felt like this before?"

"Mary, I swear I'm alright. Or I will be."

She wasn't entirely convinced, but there was no point in arguing further. But she so much as saw one hint of red in Matthew's eyes, she was going to march him straight out of the bar and drag him home.

"It's not as bad as it seems," Matthew said, lying through his teeth. "The blood substitute is working, I know it. You mustn't worry about me."

"I'm going to worry about you anyway," Mary returned. "I love you, and so I worry about you."

Matthew gave her a weak smile, picking up his glass. "You really are—"

He turned around when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and nearly spilled his drink.

Lavinia Swire was standing behind him, her innocent face decorated with a smile. "Hello Matthew."

"Lavinia! – oh my goodness … how are you?" Matthew stammered.

"I'm well, thank you," Lavinia answered. She turned to Mary and extended her hand. "How are you, Mary?"

"Good," Mary said shortly, shaking Lavinia's hand. She was also stunned to see Lavinia here, as she thought this bar didn't seem like the sort of place Lavinia would frequent.

"It's nice to see you both," Lavinia said. "I read about your engagment in the paper, and I'm very pleased for you."

"That's nice of you to say," Matthew murmured.

He hadn't seen Lavinia for over a year now. He still saw her as a friend even after they dated for a while. She was a nice girl and was never once bitter about the fact that she and Matthew had broken up, for it was she who had left him. She and Mary had actually become friends as well, and Mary had considered inviting her to the engagement party. As far as Matthew had been aware, however, she had been away during that time in Scotland.

"You've been in Edinburgh, right?" Mary asked. "When did you get back to England?"

"Just a month ago. I went back to university there to take a couple courses in art history," Lavinia admitted. "I thought about economics at first, but it just seemed rather dull."

"You should see how dull law school is," Matthew jested.

Lavinia giggled lightly. "Are you still a solicitor?"

Matthew paused. "I've … taken some time off actually. Had a bit of an illness a couple months ago."

"I'm sorry to hear about that," Lavinia said, genuinely sympathetic. "So when's the wedding?" she asked Mary.

"In about two months," Mary replied. "I thought we'd sent you an invitation."

Matthew glanced at Mary, unsure if she was telling the truth. He couldn't remember if they had put Lavinia on the invite list. Perhaps Mary had done so without telling Matthew … but that wasn't like her.

Lavinia frowned. "Oh. I never received it. It must have gotten lost in the mail."

"Never mind that, you're still invited," Mary said.

Lavinia was about to object, but Mary cut in. "I insist on it."

"Golly. That's really very kind of you two." Lavinia's cheeks were flushed quite pink, and it certainly wasn't from her powdered blush. "I hope I'll be able to come."

Mary smiled graciously. "We hope so too."

She glanced at Matthew – and once again he was focused on a human's neck. This time it was Lavinia's.

Thankfully, Lavinia didn't seem to notice – at least not yet – that Matthew was staring at her throat. "I was just here to meet with a friend, though he hasn't turned up yet. I was about to go outside and call him, to make sure he's not stuck in traffic or anything," she explained. "But it was nice to see you both."

"Nice to see you as well," Matthew said softly.

Lavinia appeared to want to say something further, but her brow creased as she looked at Matthew. Matthew caught her staring. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm sorry, I just thought your teeth were—"

Lavinia barely uttered another syllable before Mary cut in with, "Do you know what? We ought to get going. We've got tickets for a movie at nine."

She grabbed Matthew's arm and hauled him off his barstool. Lavinia stepped back. "Oh? Which movie?"

"Er … the romantic one!" Mary forced as smile as she tried to nonchalantly push Matthew towards the door. "Lovely chatting with you, Lavinia."

Lavinia's response was lost.

Matthew didn't say a word until they were out the door. "What was that for?"

"I'm sorry, but I had to get you out of there," Mary answered sharply as she marched down the street.

Matthew had to quicken his pace to keep up with hers. "I think she saw my fangs!"

"Never mind that, you're lucky she didn't notice that you were staring at her neck!" Mary hissed.

Matthew groaned. "I did it again! I don't know what's going on with me."

Mary hailed them a taxi, and she kept her eyes on Matthew to make sure he wasn't again going to hungrily stare at someone's neck. Neither of them spoke until they were home, when Mary shut the door behind her. She was cross with Matthew now that she suspected there was something he was keeping from her, and had been keeping from her for a while.

He was about to head up the stairs but she got in front of him, coralling him back into the hallway. "Is there something you aren't telling me?" she demanded.

"About what?"

"About your blood thirst, that's what!" Mary cried. "When you were staring at Lavinia's neck I seriously thought you were going to bite her."

Matthew went very still. "Did I?" he murmured. "I did feel … an urge to …"

He paced up and down the hallway and dug his fingers into his scalp. He was breathing hard, closing his eyes as if trying to calm himself. "I don't know what's happening, Mary. I thought I had it under control. I'm taking the blood substitute every day, but … tonight, I could feel my control slipping." He crumpled against the wall, sinking to the floor. Mary knelt beside him, gingerly touching his arm. His hands were trembling.

"The substitute isn't working as well as it used to. It's like I'm … resisting it … or my body is," Matthew murmured. "I know I don't want to, but … I felt such a strong urge to … to bite somebody. When Lavinia was standing right in front of me, I could smell her blood. God, she smelled so good." There was a helpless tone to his shaky voice. "What if I did end up biting someone? What if I can't control myself anymore?"

Mary couldn't understand it; how had she not noticed the blood substitute was having a lesser effect? There was nothing in the potion book that said its effectiveness would eventually fade. "Don't be afraid Matthew," she tried to soothe him. "How long have you felt this happening?"

Matthew gulped. "About a month."

Mary stared at him incredulously. "What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't think it would get this bad!" Matthew snapped. "I hoped it would just go back to normal."

Mary sat herself against the wall, head leaning towards Matthew. "You're a right idiot, you know that. You should have said something to me."

Matthew let out a humorless laugh. "I know." He wrapped his arms around himself, keeping his gaze away from Mary. "I don't want to drink human blood again, but … now I'm starting to think that I'll have to eventually."

"I'll see if there's a way to make the blood substitute stronger first," Mary suggested. "And you know Sybil can get blood from the hospital. You won't have to bite anyone."

"And what if I still felt the urge to bite someone, even with the blood packets? You don't know how tempting the smell of human blood is to me. It's like … being deprived of food your entire life. You couldn't refuse it if you tried." He drew his knew up to his chest. "Blood from a living, breathing human – that's what my body wants. Not just from a packet that's been sitting in a freezer. It's the need to bite a human, to feed from them."

There was no denying that it was painful for Matthew to even talk about this. He was afraid that the bloodthirsty part of him would take control of his mind, that he would lose his sanity to an insatiable hunger. He did not want to descend into that frightening spiral of seeing humans as prey and feeding off of them.

"If I fed on someone," Matthew went on, "I'd feel like a monster. I could never forgive myself if I hurt or killed a human. I don't want to take that risk."

"Matthew, you won't be a monster if you feed from someone," Mary told him. "It'll take more than that to make a monster out of you."

He was sulking anyway, his lips pressed together in a thin line. "I know you mean well by saying that sort of thing," he countered.

"I do mean well," Mary interrupted before Matthew could say anything else. "Listen to me: I will do everything in my power to help you. And no matter what happens to you, I will still love you. I promise."

"Despite the possibility that I could kill somebody?"

Mary let out a long groan. "You're impossible. Yes, I will still love you even if you _accidentally_ kill someone. Because you are more than this curse Matthew. You are my fiancé first and foremost." Her voice was rising with emotion, and she let herself fall into Matthew's expecting arms.

"Oh Mary, I should be the one crying," he said, his own voice cracking. His fingers intertwined with her dark locks.

Sighing against his shoulder, Mary whispered, "I'm sorry. I just hate hearing you talk like it's the end of things when it isn't."

"You're right though, I shouldn't talk like that. I just feel so helpless sometimes."

"That's why I'm here. To help you."

Mary raised her head and gave Matthew a kiss, and they kept their lips pressed together for a long time.

"I think it goes without saying that I've botched our date night," Matthew muttered.

Mary shook her head. "Nonsense. We can very well watch a movie here. And I've got enough bottles of wine to last me through the night."

* * *

On the other side of the street, Lavinia Swire watched the last light of the Crawley sisters' house flicker off. Her hands were quivering as she reached into her pocket for her mobile. She dialed the number slowly, her heart pounding as the dial tone echoed.

"I'm here," she said when she heard the phone on the other line being picked up. "All the lights are off."

"Good. But you must be careful. I doubt that they are all asleep."

Lavinia shakily pulled the talisman out from her bag. It was a tiny stone, about as big as a cherry. "You'll be able to see inside the house with this?"

"Every room and every little corridor. I'll be able to hear them all too. Isn't it impressive?"

Lavinia wasn't thinking how impressive it was. She was only concerned with getting this over with as soon as possible.

She hurried across the street, clutching the talisman tight in hand. In the dirt plot by the front stairs, she dug a hole with her fingers and placed the talisman at the bottom, keeping the magical sigil facing up. She buried the talisman so that it could not be seen or detected. The Crawleys could not know about it.

"It's done," she whispered into the phone as she headed back across the street.

"Good girl," the voice on the other line spoke. "Now why don't you go home?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Lavinia snapped. "Not until you tell me what you're going to do to the Crawleys."

"That's not for you to know."

"It is if I'm helping you. I won't let you hurt anyone."

The voice tutted. "Then you can go on home and know that you'll never see your sweetheart again."

That stopped Lavinia in her tracks. "Have you done something to him?"

"No – not yet. And it'll stay that way as long as you do what I tell you. Can you do that?" The voice waited for an answer, but Lavinia said nothing for fear of the voice hearing her cry. "Oh Miss Swire, your role is very important to this. They trust you. They think you're a nice, innocent girl. But we know the truth. After all, you'll be instrumental in helping me bring the Crawley sisters to their knees."

"Please," Lavinia begged, "you can't hurt them. They don't deserve it."

"Oh, but they do. They all need to pay."

Lavinia trembled at the malice in the other person's voice. "I'll … I'll warn them then."

"Go ahead. But you won't see your darling Evelyn again if you do. And I'd make your life a living hell too. Think of that before you say a word to any of them."

"Alright," Lavinia sobbed. She looked back at the Crawley sisters' darkened house. "Just … don't hurt Evelyn."

"I won't. He's nice and cozy in the sleeping curse I have him under. And he won't wake until the Crawleys are finished!"

Lavinia dropped the phone as wicked laughter crackled through the reciever.

What had she done to deserve this? Forced to execute the will of a horrible monster, and only because she personally knew the Crawleys. More importantly, because she knew Matthew. And the monster knew she'd do anything under threat. The monster held her new boyfriend Evelyn Napier captive, trapped in a deep sleep, and all Lavinia could do to save him was go along with the monster's plan.

But how could she bear it if someone got hurt thanks to her? Because that's what the monster had in mind.

* * *

 _Who could be controlling Lavinia? Will Damien know about Tom's curse? Will Edith succeed in her spell creation? And will Matthew lose his self-control? So many questions! AHHHHH!_


	3. Toil and Trouble

_Yeah ... so there's probably not much chance of me finishing this story by Halloween, but hey – hopefully most of you will keep reading past that ... won't you? *crickets chirping*. Told you I was bad at my own deadlines. But better late than never._

 _But anyway, this chapter is a good deal shorter than the last one, and not too much happens, but I won't spoil anything for you. Just read on, enjoy, and review._

* * *

Chapter Two: Toil and Trouble

Edith was up early the next morning, ready once more to begin working on her spell. Now that she had seen it work, if for a little while, she felt a new drive to improve it. Somehow things didn't seem impossible to her as she prepared for her task, gathering several dozen new books on the library table. She had not given up yesterday and she had found a way to make Anthony a tangible being again. Now the problem to be solved was making the spell last longer than a fleeting moment, which she hoped would be a greal deal easier.

There were several ways to make a spell last longer, and most of them required the witch to drink a potion. That potion would strengthen any spells that were cast by the witch, either to heighten the effect of the spell or make it last longer. The issue was that their were different types of potions depending on the type of spell (if it was a hex, a jinx, a charm, or another of the many categories spells were sorted into). And Edith wasn't quite sure what her new spell was, which meant some experimenting was in order.

Once she had summoned Anthony, she went straight to work, collecting ingredients for the spell-enhancement potions and preparing them in her cauldron. Anthony, as he was now accustomed to doing, would stand motionless as Edith drank the most recent potion she had prepared and recited the spell she had created the night before.

The result was the same as always. Anthony would become corporeal, but faded away within a minute. The potions Edith consumed had neither a good or ill effect. The only thing that changed was Edith's level of motivation to keep trying. She wasn't feeling too frustrated for the first few tries, but her repeated attempts continued to yield nothing different.

By the end of the morning and after six attempts, she was feeling despondent yet again. She couldn't help but think that she had only set herself up for disappointment. She did not want to concede defeat so soon, but she had the feeling that she may very well have to.

"Maybe this _is_ hopeless," she moaned, slumped in her chair. "If I can't get the spell to last longer than a minute, then what's the point?"

Anthony wafted through the table so that he was standing right in front of her. "Chin up, Edith. Nothing is completely hopeless. And you came so far yesterday."

"But I've tried everything I can think of. And I have no idea what to try next," Edith said.

"Then let it rest for now," Anthony advised. "You've done enough for today."

Edith rested her head in her hand, reluctantly shutting her book. "I know I shouldn't obsess over it, but I feel as though I can't stop until it's finished."

"You'll find a way," Anthony said, "eventually." He sighed. "The truth of the matter is, it doesn't matter so much to me. I don't mind at all if I can't feel things."

"But it matters to me," Edith argued. "And don't you want to be corporeal for longer than a minute?"

Anthony stammered, "Well, that would be nice, but—"

"Then I must keep working on it," Edith decided, her words final. "Until I am absolutely certain nothing can be done to improve the spell, I won't give up. I just have to look to other sources – there are plenty of older texts I haven't looked through yet …"

Anthony knew that at this point Edith could not be dissuaded from her mission. She was adamant about finishing the process of making him corporeal – even when he was starting to believe it might not be possible. He liked to watch her work, but not to the point of exhaustion. He wished he was able to at least make her a cup of tea and encourage her to put her feet up.

But how to tell Edith about the thoughts gnawing at the back of his mind, the ones that were swirling in his head for the past week, ever since Edith had begun her task? She had to know them eventually – even though it might break her heart. To keep the truth from her would be dishonest in a way, but to tell her would certainly upset her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Anthony loved Edith with all of his heart, cared for her greatly, but since his fatal accident a year ago he could not help but think that their relationship would suffer because of his demise. He was merely a shade, while Edith was flesh and blood and she had a life ahead of her. Why did she insist on remaining with him, a ghost of his former self, when she could find a young, living man to spend the rest of her life with? Surely it wasn't fair to tie herself down to the ghost of an old man whom she could not even touch.

And even though they were still technically together, Anthony always wondered if he should have put an end to it sooner.

His heart was telling him that it was ridiculous to be thinking such things, that Edith stayed with him because she loved him. After all, would she be working so hard to give him a solid form if she didn't? But was it selfish of Anthony not to let her go and be with someone she could truly have a future with? Like that whole 'if you love someone you let them go' saying?

He'd had those same thoughts when he was alive and first dating Edith, that it would be better if she was with a man closer to her age. But that was the logic in his head talking, not his heart, and his heart said to hold onto Edith and never let go.

What was his heart saying now?

She was the reason he remained in this world as a ghost, and he was glad that he was able to still look after her and talk to her, but he dreaded the thought that she could let an opportunity to be equally happy with a living man slip through her fingers. Edith deserved a proper relationship, with a proper partner. She deserved to be happy.

But she always said she was perfectly happy with Anthony. And Anthony knew she wouldn't accept him breaking up with her.

While Anthony fought the knots tightening in his invisible stomach, Edith pulled a few more books from the shelves. "Maybe I should ask Mama to send some books from the library at Downton," she mused. "There's a much better selection there."

"Would you ask your parents for help on this too?" Anthony inquired. "Perhaps they can give you some advice."

"No. I don't want them to know about this until it's complete." Edith paused. "They … they may think it's dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Anthony gulped. Edith hadn't mentioned any danger to the process before. "How so?"

Seeing Anthony's alarm, Edith was quick to explain. "Well … I only mean that they might think I'm trying to resurrect you, which I'm not. That would require me to go to your grave and dig up your body and—"

"I'd prefer it if you didn't explain the rest," Anthony softly interrupted.

"It's illegal anyway, to raise the dead," Edith added. "It's classified as dark magic and highly dangerous as well, and it doesn't really properly bring the dead back to life. Where do you think the idea for zombie movies came from?"

From her insinuation, Anthony could easily fathom a guess to that. "Being a ghost is leagues better than being a zombie, I suppose."

Edith set the new books down on the table. "I realize I can't change anything about you being dead. But I know I can give you a corporeal form. Surely it must be possible to make it last, because we now know it is possible for at least a minute." She sat down again, flipping open two books at once. She was going to research if a talisman or amulet might do the trick.

But she didn't get a chance to read a single word. Something else grabbed her attention.

A chill, the same that Anthony had felt the previous night, spread through his body out of nowhere. It was much colder than the last, feeling like an icy wind blowing through every part of him.

He let out a gasp, and Edith looked up from the page. "What is it?"

Before he could say, Anthony let out another shudder that caused his form to fade in and out of existence. Edith stood up quickly. "Anthony? What's wrong?"

"I don't know … I felt a horrible chill all of a sudden." Anthony shivered again, his form rippling like a reflection in water. "I feel cold all over."

Edith looked Anthony up and down with immense concern. "Does it hurt at all?"

"Only a little. It stings," Anthony answered. "It feels like wind on your face in the winter."

He would have grown more frightened of the sudden chill had it lasted longer, but he could feel it fading quickly, the cold being replaced with numbness. "It's fading," he told Edith. "It's alright."

"It's not alright," Edith insisted. She rummaged through the pile of books for one on ghosts and quickly opened up to a chapter. "I don't remember ever reading anything about ghosts being able to feel cold. And this room is hardly freezing anyway. Something's going on." She turned to another chapter, skimming over a short paragraph. "You haven't felt this before, have you?"

"Well …" Anthony winced, knowing what he was about to confess would upset her. "Last night, when we were going up to bed, I felt just a little twinge of cold."

Edith's face fell. "Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

"Because I didn't think it was important enough to tell," Anthony said weakly, dreadfully ashamed of himself for keeping in from her. "It only lasted a couple of seconds, and I hardly thought that begged for medical attention."

"You ought to have said something," Edith scolded gently. "It can't be normal if you haven't felt it before. Oh, I should know what's going on."

She paced around the table, wringing her hands and muttering to herself, "Think Edith, what could it be?"

Anthony couldn't help feeling quite useless.

Suddenly, Edith stopped dead. "Oh no … what if it's a side effect of the spell?"

Anthony's eyes widened. "Your spell? You think the spell had something to do with it?"

"You've only been feeling these cold twinges since I did the spell last night. It could very well be a side effect."

"But I don't feel out of sorts at all," Anthony said. "Apart from feeling cold for only a moment, I'm alright."

Panic was causing Edith's voice to rise. "And what if you aren't? What if something is terribly wrong? It would be my fault."

"Edith, my sweet, how could you say that? How can you know it's your fault?"

"Because it is! What if I've done something horrible to you without realizing it?"

Anthony did have the suspicion that something may be amiss, but he didn't want to distress Edith anymore. "But I feel perfectly alright now. I'm back to normal again."

"How can you be so sure?" Edith looked up at Anthony worriedly. "Because I have a terrible feeling about this. You're not a human being feeling random pains. You're not supposed to feel anything."

Anthony wished so much he could pull Edith close and give her a comforting embrace. He wanted to stroke her hair as her cheek nestled against his shoulder, whisper words of solace to her while he felt her heart beat against his chest. But of course, he could only offer her a reassuring expression.

"Why do you believe something's the matter? Surely it can't be as bad as all that."

Edith hugged herself, as though she were the one suffering a chill. "I don't know exactly. I just have the feeling that this might lead to something dreadful. And I don't want anything to happen to you."

Oh God, how each one wished they could kiss the other at this moment!

"You mustn't worry about me so," Anthony told her.

"But I do," Edith said with a weak smile. "I really do. And I will figure this out, no matter what it takes."

She knew she had to; if something was threatening Anthony, then it was up to her to stop the danger. And nothing Anthony could say would deter her.

She returned to the books lying on the table. "I'll start here, check if there are references to ghosts who regained their sense of touch …"

Anthony let out a heavy sigh. Another day of grinding away at his problem.

* * *

"Up late, were we?" Sybil smirked as Mary trudged into the kitchen.

Mary let out a tired noise in response. She took her mug from the shelf and poured hot water from the kettle into it. She was still in her pyjamas and her hair was rather tousled. Sybil on the other hand was dressed for work at the hospital, sipping the last of her coffee. It appeared to be a morning of opposites, as it was often Mary who was the first one dressed in the morning and Sybil liked to have breakfast in her pyjamas.

"You're not usually asleep past eleven," Sybil remarked.

"I'm not usually up until three in the morning either," Mary muttered sleepily. She tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a yawn.

"What were you and Matthew doing at three in the morning, if I may ask?" Sybil asked, with a teasing note to her voice.

Mary glowered at her through half-closed eyelids. "Nothing you need to know the details of, thank you."

"Oh come on," Sybil taunted. "How did your date night go?"

"It actually didn't last very long," Mary admitted, sitting down at the table. "We went to the usual bar, and we were planning on seeing a movie. Average date night. But we came home early."

"Why, what happened?"

Mary sighed. "Matthew was … he wasn't doing well around the other people."

"What?" Sybil frowned in confusion. "But he's never had a problem with humans before."

"I know," Mary groaned, shaking her head. "But the blood substitute didn't seem to work as well as it usually does. I caught him staring at a couple of throats. He … well, if I hadn't gotten him out of there, he might have bitten someone eventually."

"Gosh," Sybil murmured. "Do you think he's developing a resistance to the blood substitute?"

"I don't know. He says that he's felt it getting less effective in the past few weeks. If the blood substitute isn't working anymore, he will have to drink actual blood – and he's not going to like that."

Neither Sybil nor Mary could blame Matthew for not wanting to drink human blood after the last episode, but if the blood substitute continued to fail then he wouldn't have much choice. Vampires could become savage, mindless monsters if deprived of blood for too long. There were several old tales of vampires starving themselves and turning into deformed, skeletal, bat-like creatures that had no conscience. Mary felt sick at the thought of Matthew becoming one of those … things.

"You should check to see if there's something can be done if the blood substitute becomes less effective," Sybil told Mary. "Surely there must be a footnote or something about it somewhere."

"I'll check. Though I'm sure I would have noticed something important about it," Mary said. "I honestly don't remember anything about the potion becoming less effective with time."

"Maybe it's because he takes it every day?" Sybil suggested.

"Could be," Mary murmured, taking a sip of tea. "I'm hoping there's a way to make it effective again. Because if there isn't, Matthew's not going to have a lot of other options."

"You know I'm able to get blood donations from the hospital," Sybil said. Training to be a nurse did have its perks.

Mary nodded. "I appreciate that, but I don't know if Matthew would be willing to drink from those either. So unless he decides he can stand biting people, which I doubt will happen, I'm going to have to force-feed him."

Matthew shared a few qualities with Mary: stubborness was one of those qualities. Mary hoped that the blood substitute would start working again or else she'd have to tackle the matter of getting Matthew to drink human blood. And she would rather not force-feed him.

"Have a shift today?" Mary asked, glancing at Sybil's nurse uniform.

"No, I'm wearing this on a date with Tom," Sybil joked. "Yes, I have a shift today. I'll be out all day." She stood up and put her empty coffee mug in the sink. "There's still some eggs in the pan if you want them."

Mary eagerly stood up and spooned some scrambled eggs onto a plate. "Where is Tom?"

Sybil leaned against the sink. "He left hours ago. Had to go to work early."

"Transformation go alright?"

"Perfectly calm, as always," Sybil said. "Thanks to my flawless potion making skills."

Mary snorted. "You nearly botched it the first time you made it," she said. "You almost forget the hairs. If I wasn't there to remind you, the potion would have failed."

"Oh come on, Mary. Let me have my triumph."

Mary rolled her eyes. "Fine. You are a very talented potion-maker."

Sybil beamed, cheeks a rosy hue. But a few seconds later she frowned, squinting at Mary's neck. "Is that—?"

Mary quickly pulled the collar of her pyjama top up to her neck. "It's nothing," she said, quite unconvincingly. "Really, it's just …" She trailed off when she couldn't think of a plausible reason she had a noticeable mark on her throat.

Sybil giggled. "What? Is Matthew getting … bitey?" she teased with a wicked smile.

Grudgingly, Mary pulled back her collar. On the side of her throat, there was a sizeable purple bruise, at the center of which were two circular indents. The skin wasn't broken, but it was nevertheless clear what had made those marks – a pair of sharp teeth.

"Oh my," Sybil gasped. "Did that hurt?"

"He's got fangs!" Mary exclaimed. "Of course it hurt – but only a little. I could tell he was trying to be gentle. This was the first time he actually made marks."

Sybil leaned in closer, inspecting the bruise and teeth marks. "He didn't puncture the skin. It should heal in a day or so."

"Good." Mary rubbed the bruise, wincing slightly. "I suppose it's fitting, considering he's a vampire."

"Was he not bitey when he was human?" Sybil teased again. "Because I recall you having love bites before—"

Mary shot her a glare. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

With a smirk, Sybil sauntered out of the kitchen. "Have a good day!" she called over her shoulder.

Mary groaned as she dug into her eggs. Sybil was always poking fun at her sisters' sex lives, and while it was all in good fun, it drove Mary up the pole. Naturally Sybil found it funny that Matthew was going for her neck now.

She recalled what had happened the past night – or rather, very early in the morning. After a couple of movies and glasses of wine, Matthew had carried her up the stairs and set her down on the bed. Their lovemaking was intially quite vanilla, but nevertheless romantic … until Matthew bent his head down into the crook of her neck and began to kiss it rather passionately.

That alone had been enough to excite Mary, but when she felt the points of his fangs on her skin … well, needless to say she was lucky she had not woken anyone else with the moan that escaped her lips.

When things finally settled down, Matthew appeared flustered when he saw what he had done to Mary's throat, even though Mary assured him that it was alright. It was another manifestation of his vampiric urges; even in bed there was no escaping them.

Mary expected that Matthew still didn't fully accept what he was now. Three months since he was attacked and transformed – how long would it take for him to accept his new reality? Why did he have to be so stubborn, Mary wondered. Surely he had to know he should not be ashamed of his curse, and he could not be afraid of himself. He'd have to let go of his fear of drinking human blood if the blood substitute failed. Sooner or later, he had to give in.

Matthew was asleep when Mary went back to the bedroom to get dressed, though he stirred when she turned on the light. The curtains kept the sunlight from streaming into the room. Mary sat on the edge of the bed, brushing his hair off his forehead. Even with his deathly pale skin, sunken eyes, and sharp teeth, he was still the most beautiful man to her. Vampire or not, he was still the same Matthew she had fallen for and loved. She wouldn't let his curse change things between them.

She only wished Matthew would stop hating himself for what he was.

Mary gave Matthew a soft kiss on the forehead, whispering, "I'll see you later, darling." Though she knew he probably could not hear her, she nevertheless felt better for saying it. She didn't want to leave him now, when he hadn't given her a kiss in return, but she knew he'd likely be deep in sleep until sunset.

She got dressed for the day, making a mental list of errands she needed to run. Grocery shopping, for one, and also to the magical apothecary for some potion ingredients – Sybil had taken the last of the powdered birch root for the potion she made for Tom on the full moon – and some ointment for her neck as well.

Her errand to the grocery store was without any great crisis, apart from the price of milk going up slightly in the past week. But it was her stop at the apothecary that gave her a nasty shock.

The apothecary, hidden in plain sight, was a small little shop stocked from floor to ceiling with potion ingredients. To ordinary folk, it would look like some sort of New Age health shop, for those who preferred 'organic herbs' to 'dangerous chemicals,' and was appropriately avoided by most sensible passerby. Witches and warlocks went to the apothecary as often as one would go to the supermarket or a bank, and the Crawley sisters were all frequent customers.

She entered the shop, the tiny bell on the door ringing. The stout witch behind the counter greeted her. "Afternoon, Miss Mary. What can I get you?"

Mary rattled off a list of potion ingredients, and the shopkeeper shuffled about the store, gathering the ingredients in a wicker basket.

As the shopkeeper rang the purchases up, the bell on the door jingled again. When the shopkeeper looked up, her cheery expression turned to one of dismay. "Ah. Good afternoon, Sir Richard."

Mary's head snapped around. _It couldn't be—_

Oh no – that _was_ him. Sir Richard Carlisle, powerful warlock and newspaper magnate – and one-time suitor of Mary Crawley.

Their eyes locked together.

 _This is bloody brilliant_ , Mary thought sarcastically. She couldn't care a fig about what Sir Richard Carlisle was doing in a dumpy little potions shop; she just wished he hadn't immediately noticed her. Sir Richard seemed just as shocked as she was.

"Lady Mary Crawley," he greeted slowly. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"Certainly," Mary replied bluntly. She was most definitely _not_ in the mood to be chatting with an ex of hers – especially one she had not gotten along well with. "Excuse me, I must be going."

She slapped a few notes onto the counter and picked up the basked of potion ingredients. Pushing past Sir Richard and out the door, she hastened her pace …

And Sir Richard had followed her out.

"Lady Mary, I'd just like to—"

She called over her shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I really have to be somewhere else—"

Sir Richard caught up to her, yanking her arm and halting her. _Same old Richard Carlisle_ , Mary thought. Never did appreciate being brushed off so easily.

"Please, can't I just talk to you for a moment?" he asked. His eyes were pleading with her to grant him just a moment of her time.

Mary sighed, wresting her arm from Sir Richard's grip. "What is it?"

"I only wanted to personally congratulate you on your engagement," Sir Richard said. "I'll admit I was surprised you decided to settle down with a human. But if he can be trusted to keep our existence from the public, I don't see much of a problem with it."

Mary blinked. "Thank you." She decided it would be wise to refrain from correcting him and tell him that Matthew was in fact not a human anymore.

"And," Sir Richard added, "if there is any animosity at all still between us, I hope that can be alleviated."

"There isn't any," Mary answered. "We've left each other alone, and that's good enough for me."

Sir Richard's mouth was set in a thin line. "As long as you're happy," he muttered. The bitterness could be sensed from half a mile away.

"I hope you've found someone more deserving of you?" Mary asked, if only to direct the conversation away from her engagement.

"Not currently," Sir Richard answered. "Though this past spring when I was back in Edinburgh, I was with another young woman. Things … did not work out between us either."

Mary could easily think of a dozen reasons why a relationship with Sir Richard wouldn't work out. "I'm sorry to hear that," she said anyway.

Sir Richard shrugged lightly. "Anyhow, I'll let you carry on with your day. I'm pleased to see you're well."

"Yes, thank you," Mary said quickly, glad that she finally had an opportunity to get away. She turned on her heel and, without looking back at Sir Richard, set off down the street back home.

Just her luck to run into an ex. Who was she going to run into next? Henry Talbot? Tony Gillingham? Now that would just make her afternoon.

She stopped in her tracks, looking behind her – but Sir Richard had already gone back into the shop. So why did she get the feeling she was still being watched?

There was hardly anyone else on the little street, and those who were were walking right past her, engrossed in their own business. And even as she walked home she still couldn't shake that feeling, although there was no one following her.

"This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself as she put away the potion ingredients. "You're being silly, there's no one watching you."

But she was not aware of the creature watching her through a looking glass, the magical stone buried in the front plot allowing him to see inside the house.

"Hello again, Lady Mary," it snarled. It stroked a finger across the glass, down Mary's cheek. "Oh, I can't wait to see you again."

Suddenly, someone screamed. It was coming from the library.

* * *

Mary and a rudely awakened Matthew burst through the library door. Edith was on the floor with her back to a bookshelf, trembling and breathing heavily. "What is it?" Mary cried.

Poor Edith could hardly stammer out an answer. "There w-was a … a w-white l-light … came out of nowhere, filled the w-whole r-room up. I d-don't know what I d-did—"

"Are you hurt at all?" Mary asked. Edith shook her head.

"What were you doing? And where's Anthony—?" Mary's jaw dropped.

Anthony was standing on the other side of the library, no longer see-through. He had a solid form, pale and grey, but as solid as stone.

"Oh my God," Mary breathed. "What's going on with him? You didn't try and—?"

"No!" Edith said quickly. She jumped to her feet. "He's still dead, I promise! He's just corporeal now. It's worked!"

"What?" Mary hissed. "How – what's worked?"

Edith pointed to an open spellbook. "There – the spell I was working on. I changed some words, and when I spoke them aloud … there was suddenly a burst of light and it knocked me over!"

Mary inspected the page the book was open to. In Edith's handwriting was the spell:

 _I speak to thee, wandering spirit_

 _Be of the mortal realm once again_

 _Retain the form of flesh you covet_

 _And walk amongst those still living men_

"You were trying to make him solid again?" Mary gaped at Edith. "You thought you could give a ghost a solid form? Edith that's …"

Edith cringed, fearing that Mary was going to spew out some rant about irresponsibility or recklessness or messing around with the laws of nature.

" … that's amazing," Mary finished. "Is this what you've been working on all week?"

Edith nodded. "Actually, I managed to do it last night, but the spell didn't last very long. So I changed the spell a bit to see if I could make it last a little while longer." She looked back at Anthony. "But I don't know yet if it's actually worked. It could still only last a minute."

So they waited for a minute, then five, then ten. Anthony remained solid. Nothing seemed to indicate there was anything out of the ordinary, apart from the grey hue of Anthony's form. And he was able to hold Edith's hand, touch her face … kiss her lips.

An hour passed. Then another. Evening came, then night. Nothing about Anthony changed. He retained his corporeal form, and it did not waver or ripple or anything else that might indicate he would fade away. The spell had succeeded.

Anthony's skin was icy, colder than Matthew's even, but Edith did not care. She would have had him as soon as she could. She couldn't believe her luck – a simple revision of her spell was all it took.

"Wait until Sybil gets home, she'll be thrilled," Matthew said. Mary nodded in agreement. "Oh, she better get home soon, because I'm breaking out the champagne!"

Everyone laughed, with Edith smiling abashedly. "No Mary, you don't have to."

"Of course I do," Mary responded. "You've done something that I think no one's ever done before. It's something worth celebrating. And," she added, "I'm proud of you. I mean that."

Edith could not help but throw her arms around Mary in an impromtu embrace. And when Sybil came home just a few minutes later, she similarly threw herself at Edith (and nearly knocked the both of them to the floor). Nothing seemed capable of shattering the happy atmosphere in the house that night.

Through the looking glass, the creature observed with dark amusement. It watched the celebratory supper in the dining room, where all – including Anthony – raised a glass to Edith and her accomplishment.

"To Edith," they toasted, while Edith blushed furiously.

"What a fool," the creature snickered. "She hasn't saved him. She's doomed him."

* * *

 _*ominous scary music* uh oh ..._


End file.
